Shuffle
by Lasrevinu
Summary: Post8x07 GSR.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Don't own 'em.

Spoilers: Up until 8x07, I suppose.

Summary: What happens after Sara leaves. GSR.

Rating: I'm going to say M because I don't know how far I'll take this. This chapter is more of a K+, though, but M just to be safe.

A/N: I decided to include lyrics from the songs on my playlist, which is why there are some odd choices here. I'm so not cool, as is evidenced by my musical choices. Corny! This story will be told in two parts unless I break the second part up into two pieces, and then it will be three parts. Thanks to SBT who listens to me complain. I'm a big complainer.

Edited to say: I fixed the formatting. Sorry about that.

**Shuffle**

**Part I**

"Look at this stuff  
Isn't it neat?  
Wouldn't you think my collection's complete?  
Wouldn't you think I'm the girl  
The girl who has everything?"

--The Little Mermaid, _Part of Your World_

They had a comfy townhouse and a dog. They had HDTV. Their refrigerator had one of those ice dispensers that crushed your ice. She always wanted one of those. They had a king sized bed they used to curl up in together as they slept away the afternoons before their shift at work. Sara always wondered why they bothered with such a large bed, for they always lay stuck together, like magnets, in the middle, taking up no more space than a twin sized mattress. Now she slept alone at night. It was his idea.

"We each should sleep while the other is at work, that way when we're home together, we can spend our time awake in bed and not asleep in bed." He had smiled and rubbed her upper arms softly, attempting to cheer her up as she embarked on life as a CSI on swing shift. "Plus you won't have to listen to me snore anymore."

She gave him a half smile and sighed. "I liked your snoring."

"I feel like I've been blown apart  
There are pieces here  
I don't know where they go  
(I don't know where they go)"

--Merril Bainbridge, _Mouth_

Control. She spent her life striving for it. Sara may not have been able to keep her father from beating her mother, nor her mother from killing her father, but she could control her own actions. And her own reactions.

Until now.

She was spinning. And every time she stopped, dizzy, to take a breath, the only thing in her line of sight was more horror she couldn't fix. Suddenly the sense of justice she used to feel when catching a killer didn't feel like justice anymore. The dead were still dead. Nothing was really solved. No one was brought back to life just because she managed to find DNA on a cigarette butt or isolate a grainy image on a surveillance tape. Nothing really changed. So one murderer was in jail. So what? Another would take his place soon enough. And another.

And another.

"This morning, I woke up with this feeling  
I didn't know how to deal with  
And so I just decided to myself  
I'd hide it to myself  
And never talk about it  
And did not go and shout it  
When you walked into my room"

--David Cassidy, _I Think I Love You_

She had to find…something. She had to fix everything. The life Sara had built with Grissom was so loving, so stable, but it rested on a wrecked foundation. She needed time. Why, oh why did she need time now? She had years to repair the damage that was her life while she waited for Grissom. But nothing could happen -- she was sure nothing could go forward until she went backward. It would've been easy to quit work and disappear into their cozy home, seeing only him, interacting with only him. It was very tempting, the idea of crawling under the covers of their big bed and spending her days there while he worked. No serial murderers, no child molesters, no spousal abusers.

He would come home, get into bed with her, and hold her until she fell asleep. Everything would seem fine. It wouldn't be fine, but it would seem fine.

So she left. She loved him, but she left. The last taste of his lips was a small slice of heaven to inoculate her against the hell she'd be facing once she left his side.

"Oh, I must stop these doubts, all these worries  
If I don't I just know I'll turn back  
I must dream of the things I am seeking  
I am seeking the courage I lack"

--Julie Andrews, _I Have Confidence_

In college, she had seen a hot air balloon deflate after it landed in a field. It was a slow process. The hot air didn't leave its nylon captor the way air shot out of a rubber balloon, propelling it every which way around a room as people ducked its path. Sara remembered standing on the edge of the field for at least fifteen minutes, watching, as the once majestic balloon was packed away. It was almost sad. The half-full balloon lay on its side like a great, wounded bird. As the shiny material seemingly melted towards the ground, Sara could feel her chest grow tight.

Watching that balloon deflate had ranked as one of Sara's top ten worst memories, though she couldn't put her finger on why. She had more tragic memories, to be sure. Her life was rife with unhappy experiences. But the pathetic sadness of watching a glorious object fall to the floor and collapse seemed to encapsulate every dashed hope she had ever had, every shiny possibility that would eventually lay tattered at her feet.

She thought about the hot air balloon a lot after Grissom turned her down a few years back. She thought about it and cried. Damn hot air balloons always set her off. Her mother had been the same way with "An Affair to Remember." She'd quietly sniffle into a tissue whenever the old movie would air on television. Back then Sara didn't quite understand how the good kind of love could make you cry as much as the bad kind.

Oh, but she found out when Grissom said no to her dinner invitation.

Twin emotions of love and utter, utter sadness lived in her. They warred and often love cowered in the corner while sadness spread like a fog in her soul. Though she managed to function, it wasn't until Grissom reached out to her that the fog lifted. One sunny Sunday afternoon they kissed on her couch and her mind was clear. One sunny Sunday afternoon he took her to bed and she became whole.

Whole.

He made her whole.

She wanted desperately to run back to him. To leap into his arms and beg for things to go back to normal. To pretend there was no Natalie, there was no Hannah. There was no Mommy and there was no Daddy.

But she didn't run back to him.

Sara cried away the rest of November in the little cottage she had rented on Tomales Bay. A cold front swept over California, chasing away the last of the tourists south and she was able to get a decent deal and all the privacy she needed.

She drove up to the house and, keys in hand, got out of the car and circled around back to get a glimpse of the view. Bodega Bay sloshed up against the rocky shore. Her first thought was that Hank would've loved all the room to run around and play.

Moments later, Sara was hunched over, choked sobs wracking her body.

She might as well have seen a hot air balloon.

"Momma please stop cryin, I can't stand the sound  
Your pain is painful and its tearin' me down"

--Pink, _Family Portrait _

She spent most of her time walking. Bundled up to ward off the chill, Sara traversed the town she grew up in on foot. Where she couldn't walk, she drove, got out of the car, and hiked. She passed the house her parents lived in as newlyweds -- a large, imposing structure that, as Sara understood it, they had to trade in for a much smaller model due to debt her father had accumulated after some bad business investments. She imagined what it must've been like for her mother to pack their belongings -- new things she'd only just acquired as a married woman -- under the disdainful eye of her father. Oh, he would've been hating himself for losing his house, which meant he would've hated his wife more.

Sara frowned as she stood at the far edge of the lawn, staring straight at the doorway. This is probably where it all began. They had a whirlwind courtship, that much she knew. Her mother liked to gush about the twelve weeks her father had wooed her in San Francisco. He probably didn't smack her around as he took her to candlelight dinners in Little Italy and brought flowers to her tiny apartment. Sara used to wonder in amazement that the man in her mother's stories who wrote love poems was the same man who could so carelessly slap her across the face for putting too much pepper on his eggs.

She wondered what, if anything, made him change. Did he slowly turn into a monster, or did he just fail to reveal his Mr. Hyde side to Laura, showing her only Dr. Jekyll until they took vows?

Or did something trigger it?

Stress?

Work?

A nervous breakdown?

Sara felt her stomach clench. She looked just like her mother. That was something that had disconcerted her for years. _You're not your mother_, she'd tell herself. _You're not her_. It became her mantra, and so focused on it was she that it took her by surprise when she began to realize the little characteristics of her father that had manifested in her, from the way she always chewed on pens – Sara had found it oddly endearing early on in their relationship to see Grissom sign Hodge's overtime sheet with a Bic pen she had mangled – to the way she cracked her knuckles right before going to sleep. She hadn't even noticed she was doing that until Grissom smiled at her from his spot on the bed and said, "My mom used to say that if you crack your knuckles too much, you'll get arthritis."

When she frowned, he quickly retracted his statement. "It's an old wives' tale, I think. I haven't seen any evidence that correlates knuckle cracking and arthritis."

Sara had plastered a smile on her face and just shook her head. "I'll stop anyway."

"I remember when  
I had you and you had so much promise then  
You promised me that you would never leave again  
To be broken you were made Adelaide"

--Old 97's, _Adelaide_

She soon found her way to the next house, her first house. It was sweetly decorated now, with crisp paint and a well-manicured lawn, and though Sara didn't live in that house for very long, it was quite different than she remembered. More cheerful. Well cared for. She recalled parking her bicycle in the driveway one sunny summer day after her mother called her in for lunch. The remainder of the day had been spent watching cartoons, the bike long forgotten until the scrape and crunch of crushed metal could be heard through the open window in the living room. Endless curses streamed from the front door as Sara and her mother ran to see the commotion. Her bike lay, wrecked, under her father's car, and her father, seething with anger, locked eyes on her.

"Sara, go to your room," her mother had whispered, and she had done so without a word.

She left her mother alone with him to take the punishment. Her punishment. Was it wrong to feel guilty, some thirty years later? To feel guilty for something that wasn't her fault? Sara ached knowing so much violence had been allowed to exist when she was too young and helpless to do anything about it. At that age, she was only yet piecing together that what went on in her house wasn't the norm, that what went on in her house was wrong.

And, anyway, at the age of six there was really nothing she could do. She kept telling herself that.

It never made her feel better.

House three was a duplex far from the water. They rented the top floor from the older couple who lived downstairs. The thin walls did not suit her father and one too many visits from the police had them packing up and taking temporary residence at a motel while they searched for another, cheaper home. The three months they spent holed up in a single room with a semi-working television was sheer torture. A ten-year-old Sara was witness to every put down, every belittling remark that preceded the strike of her father's hand on her mother's flesh. It was at that point that Sara's keen sense of justice began to develop. She didn't have to know what a happy family was like to understand that she didn't have one.

The last house had been one county inland, and far from picturesque. Sara squinted as she took in her last home with her family. The area was desolate, and the police noncommittal. They didn't get called until it was time to take her father away in a body bag. What was left of her childhood died there that day, and Sara the adult was born.

In so many ways, she felt like she was still growing up. Forced to age much too young, Sara missed out on so much that one needed to be a fully functioning, healthy adult. She had to scrape together the fundamentals on the way, guessing what normal was and hoping she could pass for it.

"Well the weeks went by and  
Spring turned to Summer  
And Summer faded into Fall  
And it turns out he was a missing person  
who nobody missed at all"

-- Dixie Chicks, _Goodbye Earl_

He died on a Tuesday. Or murdered. He was murdered on a Tuesday. It struck Sara as odd that the man who prosecuted her mother seemed more outraged over her father's death than she did.

In the end, he wasn't a man who was missed. He was a man who did some damage and then died, having left the world more worse for the wear than when he entered it.

Sara was determined not to suffer the same fate. Should she die early, she didn't have to go down in history as a great woman, as a woman of change who inspired others to reach for the stars. No. She just wanted to repair the damage her father made. He had robbed the world of her mother's freedom and of her own childhood. Sara couldn't replace those things, but she could help to preserve those belonging to others.

And so she became a CSI.

And so she became Sara Sidle.

Sara Sidle was a strong woman, not a scared kid. Sara Sidle argued for the little guy. Sara Sidle stood up for what she believed in. Sara Sidle did everything she wished she could have done years earlier.

It had been exhilarating at first.

At first.

"Let me serenade the streets of L.A.  
From Oakland to Sacktown  
The Bay Area and back down  
Cali is where they put they mack down  
Give me love!"

--2Pac, _California__ Love_

Late December she took a drive down to San Francisco. She walked the sloping streets pensively, dodging the holiday crowd with the ease of a native. Her life began in California, technically, but it started in Boston the moment she set foot in college. It was there she could…be. She could be. The slate was wiped clean, the world was at her fingertips – all the goofy clichés applied. Life was good.

And yet the pull was there, the pull to come back. She had the beginnings of a life in Boston – some friends, some connections with the city's crime lab, and a free ride to attend grad school at Harvard. She didn't mind the cold weather and found the Boston accents on the local guys kind of charming. It was in its fetal stages, but it was a promising life. It had the makings of a great life, one of those "normal" lives.

Still, four successful years on the East Coast couldn't keep Sara from fleeing back to the Pacific, back to her ghosts, back from whatever possible perfection she was creating for herself.

She settled less than fifty miles from where her mother killed her father and she buckled down, learning everything she possibly could, attending every seminar she possibly could, and working every last scrap of overtime available to her. She was going to fix San Francisco. By the time Sara Sidle was done with the city, it would be a shiny beacon of peace.

And maybe, perhaps, she'd undo the wrongs that had happened years earlier.

Maybe if she put enough wife beaters in jail, it would negate her father's actions towards her mother. Maybe if she put enough murderers in jail, it would be like her mother never killed her father.

A forty-five second call from Grissom had her dropping everything and running once more. And for the first time, it was to someone. Had she examined her actions a few years earlier, she might've realized how deeply she was in love right from the start instead becoming aware of the sheer magnitude of her feelings slowly, painfully. She might've run back to California after Holly Gribbs murder was solved.

But she stayed.

For seven years, she stayed. And she stayed because of him. Nothing but true love could keep the ghosts at bay for so long.

TBC…


	2. Chapter 2

**Part II**

"I hurried thru 'cause I knew it was you  
When I saw your dog, waggin' his tail"

--Johnny Cash, _Come In Stranger_

She had neighbors. A large man, bulky with muscle and sporting an army-issued crew cut, walked his well-behaved German Shepherd along the beach while Sara sipped tea on her screened porch and watched the dog, pretending he was Hank.

About a week into the walks on the beach, the man looked up and noticed Sara. She fumbled with her mug for a moment, sloshing some tea on her cotton robe, before awkwardly waving. "H-hello. I'm Sara."

"I didn't know any of the other cottages were occupied." His pale face was grim.

"I've been here for about a month."

The man stalked off in the other direction, steering clear of her side of the beach.

"Til now I always got by on my own  
I never really cared until I met you"

--Heart, _Alone_

The streets were littered with last-minute Christmas shoppers eager to pick the perfect gifts for the ones they loved. Laden with purchases, they rushed around San Francisco as the sun began to set. Sara frowned as she watched them, all with places to go and people to see. They probably had someone to go home to, someone to greet them at the door as they set their packages on the floor and complained about the crowds. They all probably had someone to cuddle with on the couch, someone to watch one of those cheesy Christmas movies with.

She hadn't hugged anyone in over a month.

The shoppers bobbed in and out of the stores, stopped in the little cafes, and took part in the season, while Sara could only watch. They laughed while she fought the urge to cry. She hadn't had a real conversation with anyone in over a month. There were days spent without uttering a single word.

She had nothing to say.

It was so easy to fade into the crowd, to just let herself become part of the scenery. Part of California. Sara found herself drifting past the shops, not really looking at the elaborately decorated store windows until something caught her eye: the black velvet that lined the display case was dusted with fake snow, but what sparkled most was the engagement ring that sat perfectly in the center of the lush fabric.

Sara squeezed her eyes shut, willing away the tears.

It didn't work.

She ducked into a card store to escape the crowds in the street as she fought furiously to wipe the tears from her eyes. The Christmas section was packed, so Sara found solace in the lonely birthday card corner at the back of the store. She pretended to search for a card while she took deep breaths. Grissom had mentioned shopping for an engagement ring three days before she left. He had been so sweetly casual about it, so comfortable going down the road towards marriage.

He wanted to buy her a ring.

Past tense.

It hadn't occurred to her until that point that she might not be an engaged woman anymore. When Sara thought of Grissom, she tended to think of him in terms of their old life, and not in terms of what he was doing now, what he was feeling now. For her.

If anything.

Every time her brain would begin to ponder Grissom in the present, the image in her mind would revert back to their first kiss, or their first actual date at a restaurant. She'd see him clutching her hand at the hospital, or passed out, dozing, on the pillow next to hers.

But he wasn't doing those things now.

It broke her heart to know that his heart was very likely as broken as hers.

She sniffed and discreetly wiped her eye as she turned into the next aisle. It was packed with various figurines that were out of season. The Christmas ones were on display in the front of the store, so the spring and summer glass collectables loaded the back shelves. Sara eyed scenes of children frolicking in green pastures, or colorful sculpted flowers that screamed of sunny days.

It was then that she saw it, tucked in the corner behind a ceramic Donald Duck.

A crystal bee.

Sara leaned in close until her breath fogged the glass display case. She supposed it was a pretty bee – tchotchkes were not exactly her thing. They weren't Grissom's thing, either. He tended to amass collections, but his collections were more along the lines of fossils and moon rocks. Not glass bees.

"May I help you, ma'am?"

Sara stood up straight, eyebrows raised, and, as if on autopilot, began the process of buying Grissom an expensive, useless bee. She walked with the clerk to the register and handed her credit card over, numbly nodding when asked if she'd like to have the item shipped anywhere.

"Las Vegas," she croaked, and then cleared her throat. Those were the first words she'd uttered that day.

Las Vegas.

The clerk smiled and handed Sara a piece of paper and a pen so she could write down all of the shipping information. She wandered out of the store with a sinking feeling. She hadn't had any contact with Grissom since she had left him a message on their answering machine the moment she touched down in California. "I'm okay," she had said, holding back her tears. "I'm safe. I love you."

And that was all.

And now…now she was mailing him a crystal bee with no note. She had included her return address in Tomales Bay, thoughtlessly. He'd know where she was, exactly where she was. He'd be able to find her.

Sara's heart beat faster as she imagined opening the door to her rented cottage to see Grissom.

That would be it for her. There'd be no pulling away. She knew the moment she saw him, the moment he reached out to her, there would be no denying him. Sara knew she'd follow Grissom anywhere. He'd take her home, back to Vegas, back to where it all became too much to bear, and she'd slowly wither away until there was nothing left. She'd do that just to make him happy.

Just to be near him.

If he came for her, it would be the beginning of the end. Not for them. She'd love him so long as there was breath left in her body. But whatever scrap left of the Sara Sidle that had once been that she had managed to salvage as she fled Las Vegas would be totally obliterated upon returning to the daily grind.

She couldn't face it.

She wasn't ready.

Even so, Sara knew it would hurt more if he didn't come for her, if he saw the return address on the box and tossed it, bee and all, into the garbage.

Either scenario spelled doom for Sara, and she passed the holidays in solitude, waiting and fearing the days ahead.

"Oh Mother, I can feel the soil falling over my head  
And as I climb into an empty bed  
Oh well. Enough said."

--The Smiths, _I Know It's Over_

No Grissom.

He didn't come, he didn't write. Sara began to wonder if the bee had simply not reached its destination and was somehow held up in Fresno or San Diego or some place like that. Surely her Grissom would come for her.

Surely.

Sara waited for the mailman like some lovesick teenager circa 1960. She wondered if her new neighbors had received her mail by mistake. That was always happening in Las Vegas. Maybe Grissom's long, heartfelt letter reassuring her of his love was sitting on their coffee table, stacked with bills, waiting for her. She envisioned it: a cream-colored envelope with his neat handwriting, delicately spelling out her name. It had to be there. Sara quickly bundled up and hurried to the nearby cottage, knocking in quick raps against the doorframe when no one responded to the bell. The dog barked as the door creaked open. Instead of the large, standoffish man, a small woman poked her head from behind the door, her dark eyes searching Sara's face.

"Um…hi?" she began. "My name is Sara. I live right over there," she explained, hitching her thumb in the direction of her cottage. "I was just wondering if you got any of my mail by mistake and --"

"Lo siento. No hablo ingles," the woman said quickly, opening the door enough for Sara to see she was obviously pregnant beneath her apron.

"Ah…um…" Sara cursed herself for taking French in high school. "Mail? Letters?" She pretended to write on her hand, and then mimicked folding a paper and stuffing it into an envelope. "You know…letters?"

"What do you want?"

Sara blinked at the gruff voice as she stared at the shadow that emerged from behind the woman. The man with the crew cut watched her, unblinking.

"Um…hello. I was just wondering if you got any of my mail by mistake because I--"

"We didn't." He turned to his wife. "Vaya adentro."

"Well…if you do eventually get any of my mail…my name is Sara Sidle."

"Yes. Fine." He shut the door.

"Hello darkness, my old friend"

--Simon & Garfunkel, _The Sound of Silence_

She never left the house, fearing she'd miss a visit from Grissom. Sara lived like an agoraphobic, holing herself up in the cottage: she ordered takeout when she remembered to eat and had any necessities delivered from the grocery store…there was no way she'd miss him.

If he came, if he wrote…she'd be there.

He didn't come. He didn't write.

One night, soon after New Year's, she thought she saw a shadow lurking on the back patio. When she ran outside to get a closer look, no one was there. In a nightshirt and bare feet, she circled the house frantically. The wind whipped around her, the cold gusts crashing into her thin frame like the waves crashed against the shore a few yards away, slowly wearing the rock down until it was just another grain of sand on the long California coastline.

Weak, she sat on the dewy grass and stared out into the black sky. He was under that same sky. She wanted to crawl to him until her hands and knees were so cut and bloody maybe the rest of her wouldn't hurt so much. She wanted to breathe in his scent again, bury herself in it until she could sleep forever, comfortably and in his embrace. Sara felt the tears trickle down her hot skin, making cool little paths that stung in the cold.

"Senora?"

The pregnant woman from the nearby cottage crouched behind her with a blanket. "Hace frío. Mucho frío. Venga aquí. Vamos a su casa." The small woman walked Sara back to her house. She sat Sara down at the kitchen table and puttered around the unfamiliar kitchen for a teapot and teabags. Numb, Sara didn't notice what the woman was doing until she handed her a steaming mug of tea. "Drink," the woman said, forcing the English word from between her lips.

Sara sipped her tea. "Gracias."

"Rain, I don't mind  
Shine, the weather's fine  
Can you hear me, that when it rains and shines  
(When it rains and shines)  
It's just a state of mind?  
(When it rains and shines)  
Can you hear me, can you hear me?"

--The Beatles, _Rain_

She kept The Weather Channel on twenty four hours a day. Sara liked to keep track of the weather in Las Vegas. She would lie on the couch and stare at the TV, waiting for the scroll at the bottom to read the weather in Vegas. Sunny and warm? She'd picture Grissom in his straw hat, sleeves rolled up and smiling. Cloudy and cool? He'd be wearing one of his jackets even though they were sitting in a diner -- he got cold easily -- and he'd order a bowl of oatmeal and some toast but sneak bites of her Belgian waffle while she giggled and let him. The rare Vegas rainfall? They'd cuddle in bed and watch an old movie. The dog would burrow in between them, seeking the warmth from their bodies, and Grissom would laugh and say he's got competition.

As if there was ever anyone else in the running for her heart.

Sara sighed as the forecaster went on about a cold front over the Great Lakes, and found herself wishing for rain.

TBC…


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Yeah…this story took a weird, weird turn. This part is not the end.

**Part III**

"Ticking away the moments that make up a dull day  
You fritter and waste the hours in an offhand way  
Kicking around on a piece of ground in your home town  
Waiting for someone or something to show you the way"

--Pink Floyd, _Time_

By the end of January, Sara had become resigned to the fact that Grissom wasn't going to make any kind of contact with her. Her mind continued to play tricks on her, however, and she'd see phantom shadows float past her windows every so often, but she didn't chase them anymore.

She pretty much stopped moving altogether.

All of the hopes she had in this world were pinned on him. That had been part of the reason she left in the first place. For years, Sara had believed she needed two things in life: her job and Grissom. She had thrived on both her work and the idea that, one day, he'd welcome her into his world. Her wish was granted and for two mostly glorious years, Sara got to work alongside Grissom at night, spend mornings with him lounging around his place or her place, and then sleep by his side, soaking in his warmth. Her life was cut into thirds, and all three parts involved him. Revolved around him.

And it was heaven.

Right before she moved to swing shift, Sara did her best to rationalize that she still had everything she needed. She was still a CSI Level III at the Las Vegas Crime Lab. She was still Grissom's girlfriend, and more firmly cemented as such now that everyone and their mother knew they were a couple. Sara smiled desperately to herself in the mirror right before she started her first official shift on swing, trying her best to convey happiness when all she felt was a sinking feeling that life, as she knew it, was irrevocably changed. Eight rather uneventful hours were spent puttering around the lab, sans Grissom. She returned home to spend eight more uneventful hours with Hank. Sara stared into space, her good hand haphazardly patting the dog's short coat as she waited for the door to open. Grissom arrived home an hour early, and with him came a sweeping sense of contentment. The stifled air that surrounded Sara in his absence gave way to a burst of freshness. The hopelessness she had been feeling moments before was barely a memory. With her uninjured arm securely around his waist, Sara had leaned into him, pressing her lips against his neck.

"I take it you're happy to see me," he had said, his own hands gently sweeping over her back.

"I'm always happy to see you," she whispered back.

He was her bliss.

It soon became evident that he was the only blissful aspect of her life. Work was tedious on a good day and practically unbearable on a bad one. At the lab or in the field, she'd find herself tuning out Ronnie's incessant chatter and looking at the clock, her bittersweet nemesis. While Sara would want nothing more than for her shift to end, she knew all that was waiting for her at home was an empty bed and a dog. And in those precious few hours that she did get to spend with Grissom, time raced by, the hours feeling like mere minutes. That period spent together should've been peaceful, but it suddenly felt rushed. Sara constantly felt time on her back, the gray cloud over her head, nipping away at her hours with Grissom. When he just wanted to sit on the couch and watch TV or peruse a magazine, she'd get anxious. Didn't he know they didn't have much more time together? Didn't he know the hours were flying by, and soon she'd have to go back to the hell that was her job? At first, the soothing hours she spent with Grissom were enough to tide her over for the sixteen hours of the day she was without him. No matter what she was feeling before he was in the room, her face would light up the moment he entered. But very quickly came the time when, the instant he was out of her sight, the sadness would seep back into her. In her two short months on swing shift, Sara found herself becoming increasingly agitated.

And when she could feel that agitation, that frustration, creeping into her time with Grissom, she knew it was time to go. Whatever was wrong with her was murdering the only beautiful thing in her life, and she had to leave in order to save it. She wished she had the words to truly express that to him. She tried. Her letter, what she could remember of it, had grazed the topic of her past, but mostly she could recall telling him over and over again how much she loved him. She hoped, if he took anything away from the letter, it was that she adored him.

That was the one thing that time could not change.

"Eleanor Rigby died in the church and was buried along with her name  
Nobody came"

--Beatles, _Eleanor Rigby_

The knock on the door was no longer a surprise. Her neighbor, Ana, seemed to be testing out her mothering instincts on Sara, bringing her plates of food every day or so, smiling at her in hopes that she'd put some meat on her bones. The pregnant woman, usually accompanied by her stoic German Shepherd, would grin encouragingly as she presented Sara with various meals. Sara would smile back and nod, waiting for the woman to leave before she looked under the tin foil. She didn't have the heart to break it to Ana that she was a vegetarian, so the _carne _would usually end up in the garbage while Sara got full on flan or vegetable rice.

Though few words were spoken between the two women -- or perhaps because few words were spoken -- Sara enjoyed the interaction. The months she had spent in California without any real human contact had her appreciating the simple fact that someone -- besides Grissom, of course -- cared that she existed. She spent most of her days living in her head, going over every mistake she had ever made, every bad thing that had ever happened to her, but those few minutes of every day she spent thanking Ana in very broken Spanish while Ana responded in equally broken English were a respite. Sara would, without fail, sink back into her own sad world the moment she washed and dried off the plate to give back to her neighbor the next day, but for a brief, shiny period, she'd get to feel worth something, she'd get to feel hopeful that Grissom maybe thought she was worth the wait.

"I know I know I know  
Abraham, Abraham  
I know I know I know  
Abraham, Abraham"

--Cake Like, _Abraham Lincoln_

On what would've been Abraham Lincoln's one-hundred and ninety-ninth birthday, Sara celebrated the former president by watching depressing biography after depressing biography, detailing the great man's rise from obscurity to become one of the most important people in history. By the time the sun set, Sara had seen so many recounts of Lincoln's life that she had memorized the events and dates, and could repeat the oft said quotes by heart. "With malice towards none, with charity for all," she sighed, whispering the words along with the narrator as more pictures of Lincoln's Second Inaugural Address were shown.

She sighed. It always ended the same way: _Our American Cousin_, the laughter of the crowd, "Sic semper tyrannis!"

And one loan gunshot.

Almost one-hundred and fifty years had passed since Abraham Lincoln was assassinated while enjoying a play at Ford's Theatre in Washington, D.C. As the sepia-toned images flooded the screen, it seemed like longer. The world had cars and televisions, now. It had computers and DVDs and cell phones. Those who were freed by the Emancipation Proclamation were now running for President of the United States of America. The passage of time had brought about such great, sweeping change.

Except for murder.

Murder was timeless. President Lincoln's assassination would not mark the last time a life was ended by the path of an angry bullet. No…unlike horse-drawn carriages and stovepipe hats, murder did not go out of style. Guns were just as much in play as when John Wilkes Booth aimed a .44 caliber at the president's head. Humanity showed no hope of advancing in that respect. People still killed. The murder rate was on the rise. No matter how hard Sara had worked in her years as a CSI, the world did not get better. It never was going to.

Lincoln was a chump.

"Load up on guns, and bring your friends"

--Nirvana, _Smells Like Teen Spirit_

She had to pee.

Sara was loathe to get up from her comfy position on the couch -- indeed she had made a nice, warm imprint in the cushion that cradled her body quite nicely -- but her bladder was calling out to her. She blinked at the clock on the wall on her way to the bathroom. A quarter to ten. Ana had not shown up that night with her usual plate of food. Sara frowned. She supposed she had dozed off during one of the Lincoln biographies. She couldn't remember. The hours ran together in her mind. Had it not been dark outside, she wouldn't have known if it were a quarter to ten at night, or a quarter to ten in the morning. Sighing, she ignored the phantom shadow that stalked her windows and made her way to the bathroom.

She peed and then flushed the toilet. The loud whoosh of the water was accompanied by muffled crack. Sara shook her head and washed her hands, wondering if something was wrong with the pipes. The previous winter, Las Vegas had experienced a short cold burst, temporarily freezing the pipes in the townhouse. Grissom had taken care of it then.

Now…well, if that sound accompanied every flush, she knew she'd have to call the man who rented her the cottage.

Sara left the bathroom, trudging back to the couch. Just as she sat back down on the couch, she heard the sound again: a loud crack that had her jumping back up. It wasn't the pipes.

"I hear pounding feet in the,  
in the streets below, and the,  
and the women crying and the,  
and the children know that there,  
that there's something wrong,  
and it's hard to believe that love will prevail"

--Jane Sibbery, _It Can't Rain All The Time_

Barking. She heard barking. Sara slowly walked to her front door and opened it. The hinges seemed to creak for an eternity as she pulled the door open, letting a gust of cold wind envelop her. The German Shepherd came bounding for her, barking. He stopped short at her feet but continued to bark, and, somewhere in the back of her mind, it occurred to Sara that she had never heard him bark before. He began to run in the direction of his masters' cottage, and she followed, practically floating behind him in the freezing air.

She knew what she'd see.

She knew what was waiting for her.

Sara pushed open the unlocked door and saw blood. In that moment, she was half-girl, half-CSI, reliving her father's death, but with the knowledge of a trained scientist. Ana was slumped, face down, on the carpet in front of the couch. Her husband had shot her from behind in the back of the head. She never saw it coming.

Her husband was closer to the entrance of the kitchen. The front of his face was gone and pieces of skin and skull were splattered artfully like a Jackson Pollack painting on the wall above him. The shotgun lay to his right.

Classic murder-suicide.

Two lives gone. Two lives…

Sara sucked in a breath. She ran to Ana and quickly turned the woman's body over, wincing at the star-shaped hole that was her left eye.

The baby.

Ana couldn't have been dead for more than five minutes.

The baby.

Her eyes darted around the room for the telephone. Hands shaking, she grabbed the receiver from a side table on the far side of the couch and dialed 911.

"911 Emergency. How many I help you?"

Her throat tight with emotion, Sara speedily relayed the necessary information. "She's pregnant. She…the baby. It's moving in her stomach. She's gone, but…the baby."

"We're on our way, ma'am."

She hung up the phone and squeezed her eyes shut, dropping the receiver to the floor. The dog's cold, wet nose nuzzled her hand and she let out a choked sob.

"Sara?"

TBC…

A/N: I know a lot of you are not American and haven't learned all about Abraham Lincoln in school. He was born on February 12, 1809 in Kentucky and was, of course, one of the greatest presidents of the United States. He was murdered by the actor John Wilkes Booth on April 14, 1865 at Ford's Theatre during a showing of the play, _Our American Cousin_. Booth apparently waited for the funniest joke in the play before yelling "Thus away to the tyrants!" in Latin and shooting Lincoln at point blank range.

A/N #2: "It Can't Rain All The Time" was totally my emo song fifteen or so years ago when I was a kid. Before there was emo.


	4. Chapter 4

**Part IV**

"You look like a perfect fit  
For a girl in need of a tourniquet" 

--Aimee Mann, _Save Me_

Jim Brass dealt with the paramedics and the police. As Sara sunk to the living room floor, numb, she didn't even question why the detective was in California and outside of her cottage on a chilly winter night. 

The EMTs bypassed her and the dog who had taken his seat next to Sara, guarding the only living person he knew. She sniffed and noticed the glint of the dog's collar. Turning the thin piece of metal around in her hand, Sara read out the carefully etched name. "Lady," she whispered. 

Lady began to growl when Jim approached them. Sara placed a steady hand on the dog's back and it was quiet once more as her old friend kneeled in front of her. 

"Sara?" 

She could barely hear his voice. Her ears felt like they were stuffed with cotton. Her head felt heavy. Sara raised her brows. "Hmm?" 

"How far along is she?" 

"Hmm?" 

"The paramedics need to know," Brass said, the urgency in his voice slicing through the gentle tones he was forcing himself to use. "When's the baby due?" 

Sara looked over to Ana, who had been loaded onto a gurney despite the fact that she was dead. They had wrapped much her head in gauze -- probably to prevent anything else from seeping out of her wound as they transported her to the hospital. If she didn't know better, she'd think that Ana were alive, that they were just taking her to the hospital for a bump on the head and nothing more. 

"I don't know," she said softly. 

Jim rubbed his hand over his mouth and looked away for a moment. "Okay. Okay…let's get you out of here. I'm going to take you back to your house and then we'll figure out where to go from there." 

She blinked at him. "But…the hospital. I have to go to the hospital." 

His eyes searched her, confused. "Are you hurt? What's wrong?" 

"The baby," she said, getting up from her place on the floor. The dog followed suit. "I've gotta make sure…I've gotta know…" She couldn't let Ana down. She couldn't…she couldn't… 

Brass's hands encircled her upper arms and he held her still. "Sara…" he began, but stopped suddenly and let go of her. "Okay. Let's go get your coat and we'll head to the hospital. Wait here a minute while I talk to the police officers. They're going to need to take a statement from you in a little bit." 

She numbly nodded at him and stood where he left her as he talked to the police officers who were canvassing the scene. Lady nudged Sara's hand with her wet nose and whimpered. Mindlessly, she ran her fingers through the dog's coat to soothe while she waited for Brass to return. She felt drunk. She felt like all of the sounds around her were out of sync, and all of the words failed to match up with the mouths that were speaking them. Her world was spinning, and the colors and shapes ran together until all she saw was black. 

She hit the ground before she knew it. 

"I'm so tired  
Sheep are counting me" 

--Fugazi, _I'm So Tired_

She awoke to a distant buzzing of voices and intercoms, but it was the smell that gave away her location. She'd know that smell anywhere. The sting of disinfectant filled her nostrils, the tragic familiarity triggering an overload of memories: her mother lying to the ER doctor about a broken clavicle, the first rape kit she performed on a sobbing teenage girl as a rookie CSI, talking to Holly Gribbs' doctors in Vegas, holding Greg's hand as he recovered from his assault, and Grissom… 

Grissom holding her good hand while she lay in a hospital bed months earlier. 

She opened her eyes. 

Her room was empty. 

Sara sat up in bed, relieved to see that she was still wearing her own clothes. Dimly, she heard Brass's voice coming from the hallway. She got up from the bed to find him. He was deep in conversation on his cell phone when he saw her standing in the doorway of her room. 

"What are you doing out of bed?" he asked hurriedly, covering the receiver of the phone. 

"Who are you talking to?" 

"I'll call you back in five minutes, okay? Thanks. Thanks," he said once more into the phone before snapping it shut. "The police," he answered, ushering her back into her room. 

She exhaled deeply. 

"Lay down," he instructed. 

"I'm not sick. Where's Ana? The baby…" She began looking around her hospital room as if they'd materialize in front of her eyes. 

"Sit down, Sara," Brass said softly. "The baby is in the NICU. They delivered him about an hour ago." 

"I want to see him," she said, moving to get up from the bed. He held her down. 

"I think you should rest." 

"I've been resting for months," she said, standing once more. She didn't know why, but she needed to see the baby, to know he was okay, to know that she had done something for Ana. 

"Come on," Brass sighed, shaking his head. "I'll take you." 

Wordlessly, he led her through a maze of hallways to the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit. They stopped at a large window outside of a room filled with beeping glass bassinets. "He's right there, in that one," Brass said, pointing his finger to the far corner of the room. 

"I can't see him," she whispered. 

"He's right there." 

Sara searched for some sign of a baby amidst the wires. "I don't see him…" she said, shaking her head, but just as the words left her mouth, she saw a foot twitch. "Is that…is that him? He's…he's so tiny." The baby was dwarfed by the tubes going in and out of his body. 

"He's premature," Brass said simply. "Two pounds. His lungs are…underdeveloped." 

Sara looked at him, worried. "Will he be okay?" she asked desperately, her voice shaky as she pressed a hand against the glass. 

"The doctors are doing everything they can, Sara." 

Everything they can… 

That was code for _We have no idea what's going to happen_. No idea. Ana was dead and her baby could soon share her fate. 

Murdered. 

By his father. 

Sara could feel her knees tremble. For months she had lived yards away from the couple while she wallowed in her own troubles and relived former horrors. For weeks she had seen Ana almost every day, had welcomed the woman into her home and all the while it was Ana who was living a nightmare. 

And she had done nothing. 

Sara had just…let it happen. 

Her body began to waver and, instinctively, she steadied herself against the glass. "It's…it's my fault," she breathed. 

"No," Brass said quickly, clutching her arm and leading her to a nearby bench. "No, it isn't." 

"I should've noticed. I should've…done something." Her cheeks were wet before she realized she was crying. "Every day," she sobbed. "I saw her every day and…now…" The image of the tiny baby boy flooded her mind. He was fighting for his life when he should've been safe in his mother's womb. He was forced onto this earth too early, born an orphan. "It's my fault," she said, weeping into Brass's shoulder as he held her. 

He slowly led her to a standing position before motioning for a nurse. Sara faintly heard the words "sedative" and "Room 366" but was already half way to her bed before she realized where she was going. "I can't leave him," she said firmly, wiping her wet cheeks with her sleeve. "I can't leave him alone. He's alone," she cried. "All alone." 

Brass guided her into her hospital bed and nodded while he tugged up one of her sleeves. "I'll go stay with him, okay? I won't let him leave my sight. Okay, Sara?" he said, holding her arm still while the nurse stuck her with a needle. "I'll stay with him. I promise. Okay?" 

She sniffled, feeling tired from the crying, tired from whatever it was the nurse gave her, tired from her thirty-six years… 

"Don't leave him alone," she said sleepily as she lay back in bed. 

"I won't," Brass assured her. He squeezed her hand as her eyelids began to droop. "Grissom is on his way." 

Sara opened her sleepy eyes. "Grissom?" 

"Yes. He's going to be here soon." 

"Why you?" 

Brass shook his head. "Why me, what?" 

"Why you and not Grissom?" 

"Ellie, my daughter – she lives in Oakland . I visit her a couple of times a month," he said soothingly, as if he were reciting a bedtime story. "Grissom asked me to check on you." 

"So you're the shadows." 

"The shadows, Sara?" 

"I see shadows. The shadows," she yawned. "I'd pretend they were him." Exhaustion enveloped her like a warm bath. "My Grissom." 

TBC… 


	5. Chapter 5

**Part V**

"The other night dear, as I lay sleeping  
I dreamed I held you in my arms  
When I awoke, dear, I was mistaken  
And I hung my head and I cried."

--Doris Day, _You Are My Sunshine_

"Why did you leave me, Sara?"

The look on his face was so…disappointed. "Why did you leave me? No real goodbye, no explanation, save for a note…" His voice died off and all she could see were his eyes. So blue. The ever-changing irises always reminded her of one of those paint chips at the hardware store, with different shades of brilliant blue. They went from light to dark, a cool sea blue to a stormy gray, depending on his mood.

They were his one giveaway.

And they were gray now, sad. Very sad. Sad and almost distant, like a misty fog that was on the verge of swallowing her whole, leaving her with no sense of direction, no sense of self.

That's what he was doing to her.

"You left me," he whispered, his voice coming through, the only thing penetrating the fog. "I can't forgive that. I risked my career to be with you, I asked you to marry me, and now look at my life. It was all a mistake. I never should've given in. I never should've let the attraction between us overcome my common sense. You were a mistake…"

She kept walking through the gray, calling out his name. "Please," she yelled. "Come back!"

"No," said the voice. "You were the one who did the leaving. It's your fault."

She ran towards the sound. Fast and faster. "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!" she screamed as her feet pounded the pavement.

Her foot hit a rock. She stumbled and fell to the ground, weeping her apologies. "I'm so sorry, Gil. I'm so sorry…"

So sorry.

"Sara?"

A hand on her shoulder.

"Sara?"

A quick shake.

She opened her eyes, wheezing in a breath, and saw them: the sad gray irises that haunted her dreams.

"And you could have it all  
My empire of dirt  
I will let you down  
I will make you hurt"

--Johnny Cash, _Hurt_

Grissom exhaled loudly. "_Sara_."

She nodded.

He spoke slowly, his warm hand massaging her shoulder: "Do you know where you are?"

"The hospital?"

Grissom nodded.

Sara sat up quickly. "Where's the baby? How is he? Is he okay?" She moved to get up out of bed, but his strong arm held her in place. She searched his eyes and saw the answer she was dreading. "Grissom…" she began, her voice watery with despair.

"I'm so sorry, Sara. He died. He died an hour ago."

She fell back in bed, her head thumping against the flattened pillow. She had failed. Sara had failed Ana. She had failed her son. She had failed Grissom.

Her life up to that point was bookended by failure and horrific circumstance, all taking place within the city limits of Tomales Bay.

"Sara?" Grissom took her hand, held it snug in both of his. "Sara?"

"Was he alone?" she asked, her voice scarcely a whisper.

He looked down at their joined hands. "I was there with him. I…I had him baptized."

She furrowed her brows and turned to look at him, taking his whole face in for the first time since waking. The beard was back, and with a vengeance: untrimmed and very gray. His face was rounder, cherubic cheeks poking out over the furry growth. "You baptized him?"

"I…I knew his mother was from Latin America; Brass told me. I assumed that…that she was Catholic."

"But he didn't have a name."

"I called him 'John.' I'm sorry, I couldn't think of another name," he said quickly. "The priest…that was the first one I could think of."

"John is your father's name," she said numbly.

"If you don't like it…"

"It's fine." She moved her gaze to the clock on the wall, ticking the time away. "John is fine. Thank you…for being there for him. When I couldn't."

Grissom waited a long while before speaking again. "I…want the doctor to have a look at you before we leave."

"Leave?"

He pursed his lips. "We have to go. You can't stay here."

"But…the baby…"

"Sara--"

"I can't leave the baby," she told him, feeling dizzy. She couldn't quite understand -- couldn't grasp -- the situation. "Am I dreaming?" she asked, feeling tears begin to gather. He was right there, perched on the edge of her hospital bed, as he had been after they rescued her from the desert months earlier, as she had imagined him so many times since leaving Las Vegas.

"Honey…" he began.

"Gil?" The tears started to fall. When did it all go so wrong? _How _did it all go so wrong? It was only months ago that they were cuddled up in bed watching old movies with the dog splayed across their intertwined feet. Mere months ago, he'd brew coffee for them before work, and bring their mugs to the kitchen table where they'd sip and smile at each other, each a little bit giddy that they hadn't awoken from a dream, that they really were together.

Together.

Now an invisible, impenetrable wall of death was between them. On his side, light and air. On hers, murder and malice.

And waste. Such utter, utter waste.

Her mother, her father. Ana. And the baby.

John.

Barely a chance to breath on this planet, and he was gone. She knew it was her fault. Too absorbed in her own problems, too preoccupied with missing Grissom, Sara had failed to see the abuse that had been so familiar to her as a child. And that's what made it worse: this situation was not foreign to her. Abuse was entirely too close to home for Sara Sidle, and she had missed it.

There was no redeeming herself now.

Solving all the crimes in the world would not bring that baby back.

Sara sunk down in the bed. The tears slipped silently from her eyes now, as if her tear ducts had sprung a leak and nothing more.

"Brass is going to your cottage to gather all of your things," Grissom explained, his tone low and soothing. "He's going to meet us here in the car I rented and we're going to leave."

His words swam in her brain, flowing in and out of meaning haphazardly. The only definitive word she heard was 'leave.' And it had her sitting up straight.

"But…what about--"

"The burial arrangements are taken care of. We can come back later, but right now I have to get you out of here."

"The dog."

"Hank? He's in the kennel. I had the sitter take him there, because I wasn't sure how long we'd be, and--"

"Not Hank."

Grissom pursed his lips. "What dog, Sara?" he asked slowly, as if he thought she had officially lost it and was referring to an imaginary dog.

"Ana's dog. Lady. She's…she's all alone…"

He nodded quickly. "I'll have Brass square it with the cops on the case. We'll take the dog."

TBC…


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Many thanks to Banani who helped me plot out the rest of this fic. I'm shooting for fewer than twenty chapters.

**Part VI**

"You know there's always more than one way  
To say exactly what you mean to say."

--Fastball, _Out of My Head_

He led her to the car wordlessly, and they began their journey South. Sara waited for him to speak, to say anything that would reveal his feelings about her, about the situation, about their relationship…

But nothing. Grissom was silent, and she didn't want to coax him into saying something it would hurt her to hear. He must've been so disappointed in her. But still, good man that he was, he wasn't going to leave her to fester on her own. She knew he'd probably see she got some help and then delicately -- ever so gently -- let her know he needed her out of his life.

She couldn't blame him.

Sara wasn't sure when that day would come, but she could feel it on the horizon. What she would do without him was a mystery to her. Most likely, she'd become a ghost in her own life, and slowly fade away into oblivion. Without Grissom, there was nothing tying her to the world; he was her last link to humanity. Sara pictured him cutting ties with her and letting her float away, as if she were suspended by a hot air balloon. She'd rise up into the atmosphere, alone, and the air would get thinner and thinner. Sara pictured herself slipping into unconsciousness in a hot air balloon basket, sinking to the bottom as the balloon climbed higher and higher, towards the stars.

As if the dog could sense her new owner's morbid thoughts, she began to whimper. Sara sat up in her seat and rubbed the tiredness out of her eyes. She turned back to look at Lady, who was crouched in the backseat of the rented sedan. "I think she needs to go to the bathroom," Sara told him, her voice scratchy from lack of use.

"We'll be there in five minutes."

She squinted at the window and pursed her lips. "Five minutes? But we're in L.A. We're not even close to Vegas--"

"We're not going to Vegas." Sara raised her brows at him, but Grissom kept his eyes on the road. "My mother's house is here."

"Oh, so…it's a stopover?"

"Not exactly. I don't think you should go back to Las Vegas."

She nodded her head slowly. She could see what he was doing: slowly establishing separate lives for them. He didn't want her getting comfortable in Vegas, so he'd let her collect herself some place safe and then let her be on her way. Smart. She shouldn't have been surprised. Grissom was a smart man.

He drove them to the seaside town of Marina del Rey. The sun was just setting, giving the opulent homes that dotted the streets a rich glow. It was hard to believe that her Grissom grew up in the land of sun and surf. He was buttoned up, even now with the heat in the car blazing.

She could see a lot of newer houses; each seemed to be trying its hardest to be the most unique. These weren't the cookie-cutter McMansions she was used to in Vegas; they were oddly shaped, strangely boxy, with lots of windows.

One house stood out, and it was that house's driveway Grissom pulled up in. It caught Sara's eye, because it was the only one that looked like a house. There was no flash to it. It was normal and boring.

And it looked like home.

Grissom unbuckled his seatbelt and turned to her. "I'm going to take the dog around back and then let her in the house. I'll be back so we can go to the supermarket and get some groceries."

He left without another word, taking the dog out of the backseat and stopping to get the suitcases from the trunk. Grissom was silent when he returned, and the lack of conversation continued at the supermarket. Over two years together made him more than knowledgeable when it came to her favorite foods. She just walked along by him as he pushed the cart, watching as he tossed in granola and tofu, along with dog food for Lady. He paid for everything and held all of the bags as they returned to the car. She decided it was time to break the silence and turned to him after he closed the trunk. "Thank you for coming to get me."

He avoided her eyes. "You're welcome."

They drove back to his mother's house and, though Sara tried to take some of the grocery bags from him as they walked from the driveway to the front door, he demurred.

Grissom opened the door and stood back, allowing her to enter first. Sara had never experienced the late 60s, but she guessed she was stepping into them as she entered the living room.

"I'll just put these groceries away," he said quietly, and though she knew he probably meant for her to stay where she was, Sara followed him to the kitchen. It was like a time capsule: the appliances, though they looked clean and in working order, had to be from the Nixon administration. The linoleum floor underfoot was the exact shade of pale green as the shag carpeting in the living room.

During their time together as a couple, Grissom had moments where he'd offer anecdotes of his childhood. They were always spur of the moment, unprovoked stories that would just pop out of him sporadically, like some kind of form of Tourette's. He liked to talk about his mother -- what she was like while he was growing up -- but he talked little about what she was like after he moved to Las Vegas, and Sara knew nothing about her death, save for the fact that she died in 2003.

Questions were on the tip of her tongue, but Sara felt strangely as if she had no right to be asking them. She frowned, knowing that six months ago, he probably would've told her anything she wanted to know.

"They all work."

She raised her brows, surprised, and looked at him. "What?"

"The appliances. I have them serviced about once a year. They all work."

"Oh." She pursed her lips, unsure of why he was offering up this bit of information until she realized he must've thought her frown had something to do with the very dated kitchen. "I…I wasn't thinking about that. I…never mind."

"Everything is clean," Grissom continued. "A cleaning service comes twice a month."

Sara nodded, unsure of how to respond.

"I put your things in the bedroom. Follow me." She did just that, walking a step behind him towards the back of the house. This bedroom, like every other room in the house, was from another era. She guessed it was his mother's, from the queen-sized bed and flower-patterned duvet. The furniture seemed to be oak, and had a sheen to it. "You should probably unpack. I'm going to feed the dog and make you something to eat."

"Oh, I'm not very--"

"You need to eat," he told her with a pointed glare before leaving the room. She furrowed her brows and then walked to the large mirror that hung over the wide, six-draw dresser. It was true that she was a bit more gaunt than usual. Sara lifted her shirt a little bit to get a better look at her tummy: the skin was pulled tight across her abdomen. She pulled the garment up further and gasped at the sight of her ribs, their outline visible, rippling her pale skin. Running her fingers along the bones, she shook her head.

No wonder Ana kept trying to feed her.

At the sudden thought of Ana, Sara dropped her hands, letting her shirt fall back down. Poor Ana. The woman had been living in hell with the man who would murder her, and she had enough goodness in her, enough selflessness, to try to help her malnourished neighbor, bringing her plates of food every day.

Every day.

"I was born here and I'll die here against my will  
I know it looks like I'm moving, but I'm standing still  
Every nerve in my body is so vacant and numb  
I can't even remember what it was I came here to get away from  
Don't even hear a murmur of a prayer  
It's not dark yet, but it's getting there."

--Bob Dylan, _Not Dark Yet_

Sara felt her knees go week. She stumbled back and managed to sit on the bed before her legs gave way completely. Ana hadn't delivered food to her the night she died. Sara squeezed her eyes shut, imagining the scene that had taken place that last night in her neighbor's cottage. Had Ana been going to bring Sara a plate of food when her husband decided to get out the shotgun? Despite her best efforts not to, she pictured him, the man that was Ana's husband, ripping a tin foil-covered plate from his wife's hand and slapping her face. "You go nowhere without my permission!"

Another slap.

"Nowhere without my permission."

He was speaking in her father's voice. Yelling. She could see it all as she hid behind the armchair. And Ana was apologizing. Apologizing in English. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. You're right. I'm sorry." Sara recognized the weak utterances as her mother's. Laura Sidle never defended herself against her husband. She knew better. Trying to justify her actions only got her in more trouble.

"I'm sorry, Alex. Sara didn't mean it. She didn't mean to break your ashtray. I shouldn't have left it on the edge of the table. It was my fault. I'll get you a new one."

"Damn it, it was her fault and _she will pay_. That was my _father's _ashtray. Where is that brat?"

Those were the last words she heard leave her father's lips as she darted up the stairs to her room.

"No, Alex!"

There was a short period of yelling, followed by a dead calm. Sara was underneath her bed as she waited for the footsteps that never came. After four hours of silence, an undeniable truth began to seep into her: at least one of her parents was dead. She pictured her father finally killing her mother, realizing what he had done, and then making a break for it. She could see him breaking her neck as he had threatened to do so many times before, could see him strangling her until she was lifeless, letting her drop to the floor as he hovered over her body, breathing heavily. And when his breathing slowed and his senses returned to him, he'd get the hell out of there.

He had a habit of running when the going got tough. She knew. She had inherited that very trait.

When Sara had finally ventured back down to the living room, she initially breathed a sigh of relief. It was her mother who was breathing heavily. It was her mother who was hovering over a body.

And it was her father who was lifeless on the floor.

Both were covered in blood, a fact that registered in her brain several moments after the shock of the situation hit her.

Laura was rocking as she moaned to herself softly. Her eyes were glassy, like a doll's.

But she was alive.

And Ana wasn't.

The plate of food, the ashtray. It was all Sara's fault.

She was the death of everyone.

"Your food is ready."

TBC…


	7. Chapter 7

**Part VII**

"She likes to think  
she likes to drink  
She seems too weak, she takes all the rent."

--Nirvana, _Oh the Guilt_

She saw him at the doorway, hands in his pockets as he watched her. "You didn't unpack," Grissom noted.

"No, I…forgot."

"I made you something to eat. It's in the kitchen."

Sara got up off of the bed an followed him. On the small table in the kitchen sat a large plate of pasta with tomato sauce. To its right was bowl of hummus and with pita triangles.

"It was the quickest thing I could make…"

"It's fine. Thank you," she said, doing her best to smile. Sara had no appetite, but she sat down at the table and began to dig into the pasta.

"Do you want anything to drink? Iced tea?"

"Yes. Thank you," she said. "This is very good."

"Thank you." He set her drink down by her plate.

When he continued to stand, Sara put her fork down and looked at him. "Aren't you going to eat?"

"I'm not very hungry."

He didn't want to eat with her. "Oh. Okay." She watched Grissom fidget for a moment and then decided to just let him off the hook. "You don't have to stay here with me. I can eat alone. You can…do what you need to do."

"I'll leave you alone," he said, and then quietly left.

Sara stared at her plate. She didn't want him to put his life on hold while he worried about her. He probably had things to do in Las Vegas, cases that needed his expertise, bees that needed his help. Gil Grissom didn't need to waste his time on Sara Sidle, but he was too good of a man not to.

She ate every last morsel in front of her.

Sara didn't want him concerned about her weight. She wanted to give him as little to worry about as possible, so he could get on with his life the way he wanted, the way he planned. She loved him too much to let him waste his life and talents on her.

"Wrong people exist  
to make right people  
feel right  
relatively  
and I'm wrong  
absolutely  
and you're right  
positively  
and I need you  
absolutely  
and you need me  
relatively."

--The Magnetic Fields, _Relativity_

After cleaning the dishes in the sink, Sara ventured out of the kitchen to look for Grissom. He wasn't in the living room or the adjoining dining room. She checked her room, wondering if he were unpacking his things there.

The bedroom was empty, save for Lady, who was sitting at attention at the doorway. Sara gave the dog a pat on the head and Lady saw fit to follow her master down the hallway. They first encountered a closed door. Sara's hand flew to the knob, but failed to turn it. She pulled back, not wanting to intrude. This wasn't her house, and the fact that Grissom had never told her about it made her very uneasy about letting herself get too comfortable. They next passed a bathroom -- as dated as the rest of the house -- before coming upon a slightly open door to what looked like a home office. Truth be told, it looked as if it could be Grissom's home office. As best she could see, there was an expansive wooden desk at one side of the room flanked by bookshelves. Bookshelves everywhere. This had to be his father's room.

As if as curious as Sara, Lady nosed her way into the room, pushing the door wide open to reveal a deep brown leather sofa currently occupied by Grissom. Immediately, she grabbed the dog by the collar and pulled back, offering her apologies. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean--"

"It's okay. Come in."

She nodded and let go of Lady, who quickly began exploring this new territory, sniffing in the corners for any trace of another dog.

"This was my father's study."

The corner of Sara's mouth lifted in a small smile. "It's nice." And it was. There was no green shag carpeting in this room. The floors were hardwood and the furniture looked classy, the kind that was always in style. "Did you guys…spend a lot of time in here?"

"Yes. Every day. He taught me how to read in here."

Sara smiled wider at this little nugget of information. It filled her heart. "I bet you were a fast learner."

"I was." He didn't smile at this. Turning back to face the wall, he stared straight ahead. Sara furrowed her brow and then followed his line of sight to a day calendar hanging on the wall above a chest-high display cabinet filled with all manner of botany-related tools. The day calendar, yellow and worn with age, was frozen on September 16th, 1966. Sara could feel her jaw drop. "The day he died."

She looked over at him. "What?"

"September 16th, 1966. That was the day he died. Every night, he'd tear down the date and say: 'It's been a good day.' No matter what happened that day, he'd say that. He died before he could take down September 16th."

"That's my birthday," she blurted out, instantly regretting the words the moment she spoke them.

"I know."

They had celebrated three of her birthdays together as a couple. They never did anything fancy -- usually just dinner and then some very energetic sex. At some point, he'd give her a present, but nothing crazy. Had she known her birthday was the anniversary of his father's death, she would've given him all the space he needed, would've gladly worked a double shift so he could be alone at home.

At a loss for words, she just stood there, searching for the right thing to say.

"You should probably go unpack now," he said softly.

"Okay." She walked into the hallway, waited for the dog to completely exit the study, and then closed the door so he could have some time to himself. She hurried to the master bedroom and hoisted her large duffle back on the bed. Upon examining its contents, she frowned. Detective Jim Brass obviously did not believe in folding clothes. Sara was determined not to be a slob in Grissom's house, so she carefully folded each item and placed it in the empty drawers of the dresser. Just as she closed the last drawer, a small silver frame caught her eye. It was resting on a doily on the far end of the dresser. Sara carefully picked it up, examining the photograph of the small boy she guessed was Grissom. He must've been three or four when this portrait was taken. She smiled at his obvious distaste for his pale blue short pants and matching blazer. Though he wasn't smiling, he was a beautiful child. She had been a scrawny kid, ugly, too skinny for her own good with hair always in a tangle. But Grissom -- he was the opposite: his round cheeks were rosy, his wavy hair perfectly combed and cropped short. His suit looked pressed to perfection. His shoes were un-scuffed and gleaming in the decades-old picture. He was the perfect specimen of a child. She smiled at the picture and guessed that, the moment he got home, he probably changed into play clothes and ran to his father's study to read with him.

Sara's heart broke for the little boy in the photograph. That little boy had no idea his father would leave him in a matter of years. He had no idea that he'd grow up to be with a woman who was broken beyond repair.

Setting the picture back down on the dresser, Sara sighed and began to wander around the rest of the room. A large, framed photo of the Grissoms on their wedding day hung over a lounge chair in the corner. Like their son, the parents looked immaculate, perfect. Happy.

She could see he took after his mother in looks. His father had dark hair and black eyes. He looked like an old-time movie star, handsome and chiseled. Sara wondered desperately what they would've thought of her, if they would've liked her at all or if they would've advised their son to move on to greener pastures. There was no way she could've blamed them for disapproving. Their only son was holed up in his hometown, babysitting the woman who left him instead of pursuing his brilliant career. Their little boy -- that sweet face in the photograph -- grew up to be an astounding man who could do anything, could go anywhere.

And he was stuck here.

And it was her fault.

Sara quickly turned her face from the wedding portrait, feeling the guilt scorch her soul. She kicked off her shoes and fell onto the bedcovers, willing away the tears.

She had a lot of practice.

TBC…


	8. Chapter 8

**Part VIII**

"Stars appear and shadows are falling  
You can hear my heart a-calling"

--Buddy Holly, _Oh, Boy!_

She woke up face down on the mattress, a crocheted blanket draped over her body. Sara frowned as she lifted her neck, craning it for the sight of a clock. She must've dozed off after dinner. A big meal always made her feel sleepy.

Stretching, Sara got up off of the bed and rubbed her eyes. She could feel the sleep still in her bones. The bed called out to her, but she just wanted to see Grissom, to see his face, to make sure he was real. He was probably watching the news or some obscure documentary on insects, but all she needed was a look. She'd survive on that, Sara told herself.

She knew she'd soon have to live on much less.

Sara trudged sleepily to the living room and, upon finding it empty, assumed he was still in his father's study. She couldn't have been asleep too long. She rubbed her tired eyes and made her way to the study, expecting to see him, once again, on the couch.

The couch was empty.

More than a little alarmed despite her drowsy state, Sara checked the kitchen and the hall bathroom before remembering the one room she had not seen that day…

The door was still closed, but this time that did not stop her. She turned the knob and opened it wide. The wooden bunk bed had her furrowing her brow.

Bunk bed.

She shook her head, completely confused. She didn't know what she was expecting, but…this wasn't it. Sara's eyes searched the dark room. She made out a desk on the opposite end, a smaller version of the one in the study, flanked by bookshelves. There were shiny, silky things dotting the wall over the desk -- first place ribbons, she guessed. Sara took a step inside, bewildered. Above the dresser hung a poster: _Los Angeles Dodgers 1965 World Champs_.

Grissom's room.

Grissom's room as a boy.

She turned a full circle, soaking up as much as she could in the dark. This was his sanctuary. This is where he did his homework, where he worked on his science experiments and dreamed his dreams. In this room, the most perfect man grew up.

She walked to window at the far end of the room and gazed through the panes. Sara wondered how many times he had done the same thing, how many times he had looked up at the stars and pondered the mysteries of the universe from that very spot. She wished to ask him all of those questions and more, but knew they were well past that point. Had he wanted to share that information with her, he would have. As it was, Sara was left to imagine her love, forty years younger and staring up at the same sky.

A snort and a cough from behind had her gasping. Sara turned around and locked eyes on the bottom bunk. Under the covers lay Grissom, curled up on his side and snoring softly. She placed a hand over her heart and felt it pound against her palm. He had been there, asleep, the entire time.

Her breathing eventually slowed, but she couldn't find the strength to move. All she could do was stare at him as he slept, a sight she had not seen for months. The soles of her feet glued to the floor, Sara could not say how long she watched him, but it was long enough for him to sense her presence. One eye, followed by the other, peeled open and she could see the situation slowly register on his face. He furrowed his brow and lifted himself up on one elbow before saying her name softly. "What are you doing here?"

"I…couldn't sleep."

"Are you okay?" he asked quickly, sitting up straight.

"Fine. I'm fine," she said, forcing a smile. She wanted to climb into bed with him so badly, just so he could hold her, just so he could tell her everything would be okay, that he'd never leave her side. She could feel every fiber of her being screaming for him, urging her to go to him, but she stood still. It wasn't what he wanted. He had obviously chosen to sleep in his small childhood bed rather than with her in the master bedroom.

Grissom had made his choice.

And Sara had to respect that, no matter how much it hurt.

"Do you need something?"

He was looking at her so sweetly, so earnestly, she had to avert her eyes. Sara locked her gaze on the top bunk and exhaled deeply.

A compromise.

Just this one night. A compromise, and then she'd let go.

"Could I…maybe have the top bunk? Just for tonight? I'm feeling a little bit…"

"Sure," he said evenly.

"Thank you," she told him. Sara climbed the very creaky latter to the top mattress and settled down on the comforter. It had been years since she had to sleep on a top bunk. She shimmied out of the jeans she had fallen asleep in earlier and carefully folded them and placed them towards the foot of the bed. The room was warm and Sara debated removing her long-sleeved black T-shirt as well, but decided against it. She didn't want him to think she was trying to seduce him. No, she just wanted to be near him, just wanted to hear him breathe as he slept.

Sara lay under the covers and sighed. Exhaustion was eating away at her, but she couldn't sleep. And from the lack of snoring coming from the bottom bunk, she was quite sure Grissom wasn't sleeping either. "Grissom?" she whispered.

"Yes?"

"Why do you have a bunk bed?"

"My mother thought it would be good for when my friends slept over."

"Oh." She waited a moment before continuing. "Was it?"

"I never had any friends over."

"Neither did I," she said, rolling over to rest on her stomach. "Did you sleep on the top bunk or the bottom bunk? Or did you switch?"

"Bottom bunk. My mom thought the top was too dangerous."

She pursed her lips. No one had ever thought the top was too dangerous for her. "I stuck to the top in all of the group homes. Newbies almost always wet the bed and it sucked sleeping under them."

He made no response. She guessed it was the urine anecdote that had silenced him.

"Grissom?"

"Hmm?"

"You never slept on the top bunk?"

He sighed. "No. I didn't."

"Did you ever climb up on the top bunk?"

"No."

"Do you want the top bunk now?"

No reply came from the bottom bunk.

"Grissom?"

"If I had wanted to sleep on the top bunk, I would've slept on the top bunk. It's not like my mother is here to say no."

Sara felt her throat tighten. She didn't mean to make him angry. She knew he was tired. He must've been exhausted. Grissom had been up for hours, had traveled from city to city, and had baptized a dying baby, all while she was either sedated in a hospital bed or dozing in the passenger's seat. He also had to deal with her intrusion in his life once more, and now she was sleeping in his childhood room.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize. I--" He sighed loudly. She could hear the springs in his mattress squeak as he moved. Within seconds he was standing on the floor, his eyes level with hers as she lay on the top bunk. "I used to be scared I'd fall off. That's why I never slept on the top. That's why I never _went _on the top."

She gave him a small half-smile. "Now's your chance to conquer your fear."

He rolled his eyes. "Okay. But just for a minute." Grissom moved to the small wooden ladder while Sara scooted over to one end of the bed to make room for him. The wood creaked as he took his first step. "Jesus," he wheezed.

"What?"

"The rungs are digging into my feet."

"Oh, you have to sort of use your toes and the balls of your feet," Sara explained as he ascended the latter. "It takes practice."

Grissom only winced as he continued his climb, stopping only when his knees were level with the mattress. "How the hell do I do this?"

"I don't know…you just sort of…crawl on."

"Crawl on?" he muttered. "Jesus." In a few moments, his body was fully atop the mattress. "So this is it?" he asked, looking around at his room from above for the very first time.

"Welcome to the top."

He cocked a brow. "I don't know what I was so afraid of. I probably would've liked this when I was little."

"I don't know," she smiled. "You probably would've fallen and broken an arm at one point."

"Why do you say that?"

"You tend to move around in bed a lot."

He looked down at the bedspread and said nothing. Sara wished _she _had said nothing. She cursed herself for bringing up their relationship when he seemed determined to forget it.

"I, uh…"

The bed squeaked loudly as he fidgeted.

"I , uh…" he stammered once more. "I should get down."

The wooden posts groaned as he inched his way back to the far end of the bed.

Sara nodded and watched him.

And then the bed gave way.

An audible snap was followed by a loud crash, both accompanying the descent of the top bunk to its mate below. Sara's heart had leapt in her chest as she tried to grasp what had happened: one second she had been watching him just as he was about to attempt the climb down, and the next he was holding her tight, asking if she were hurt, if she had been hit by any of the splintered wood or debris. "Did any of it get you?" he wheezed, out of breath.

All she knew was that he was so warm, and that it felt so good to be in his arms again.

"I'm fine," she said, and turned her head slightly to get a better idea of how they had landed. The top mattress was tilted a bit, with the foot of the bed slightly elevated. Grissom was still on her, plucking a shard of wood that had tangled itself in her hair while he kept repeating his queries. "I'm fine," she told him once more. "Really. Are you? Are you okay?" she asked, suddenly desperately worried he'd blame this whole mess on her for goading him into joining her on the top bunk.

"I'm fine," he breathed into her face, his eyes boring into hers.

Sara reached up, placed a steadying hand on his shoulder. He was quivering. She frowned and slid her hand down over his flannel pajama top to his heart. Grissom's eye twitched as she began to rub there softly, first in short strokes, and then in longer ones that spanned his entire chest. His own hand moved from the side of her abdomen down to her hip where he encountered her bare flesh. Something sizzled in his eyes and, in mere seconds, Sara felt her panties being tugged down to her knees. She was with him, beat for beat, and slipped her hands into the elastic waistband of his pajama bottoms, fondling his hot flesh while he speared her moist cleft with two thick fingers. Sara knew she couldn't take much more stimulation and quickly shoved his bottoms down past his hips. Grissom got the message and withdrew his fingers from her body, replacing them with his shaft. They both grunted loudly as they joined for the first time in months. All thoughts of finesse and foreplay were thrown out the window as the lovers worked toward a single goal. For Sara, she was already practically poised to climax the moment his warm arms encased her body. His steady, deep rhythm drove her to orgasm quickly, and Grissom soon followed, issuing a guttural moan as he spilled himself into her.

TBC…


	9. Chapter 9

**Part IX**

"All the odds are in my favor  
Something's bound to begin  
It's got to happen, happen sometime  
Maybe this time I'll win"

--Liza Minelli, _Maybe This Time_

He was heavier than he used to be. That was the first thing that registered in Sara's brain as her heart rate returned to normal. She had noticed he gained weight, but it didn't really hit her until she felt the entirety of his bulk settled atop her, in her. He was crushing her into the mattress and she welcomed it. Oh, that warm, solid weight was pressed against her once more, squeezing the chaos and shame out of her until all that was left was an all-encompassing love for him.

Sara closed her eyes and exhaled deeply.

Barely a moment later, she was released of his weight. Grissom removed himself from the mattress and stood stiffly straight on the floor. She squinted, watching as he tucked himself back in his pajama bottoms and quickly surveyed the debris around them.

"You can't sleep here," he stated, his eyes boring into hers as she lay on the lopsided mattress.

Sara frowned. She had gathered that much. Before she could do anything more than push herself up on her elbows, he was lifting her up off of the bed, one arm secured across her back, the other under her bare knees. Her first thought was that he had never carried her before, not even when she got home from her stay at the hospital -- then he had wrapped his arm around her waist and let her lean into him as she walked from place to place. Now she was cradled in his arms, and he was tip-toeing out of his childhood bedroom, careful to avoid the splinters of wood littering the floor.

Her panties were somewhere between the sheets of the fallen top bunk. Being around Grissom while bare from the waist down wasn't something that should've made her feel shy, but Sara couldn't help but tug at the hem of her long-sleeved T-shirt ever-so-slightly. When they were safely in the hallway, she expected him to set her down, but he continued his walk to the master bedroom, letting go of her only when he could set her down on the roomy bed.

Sara blinked up at him, but Grissom said nothing. He disappeared into the adjoining bathroom. She could hear the water run as she sat back against the pillows, contemplating the last ten minutes of their lives. Her heart danced in her throat as she remembered how concerned he was for her after they fell. That was almost as gratifying as making love to him again. And then him caring enough to carry her out of the room and into bed…

She felt her heartbeat quicken. They had so much to talk about. She had so much to apologize for.

For the first time in such a long time, there was light at the end of the tunnel: a pinprick of radiance to illuminate the sea of darkness she had been drowning in for months. He was that light.

She inhaled quickly when she heard the bathroom door open. Grissom stepped out into the darkness and stood before her, holding his hand out. It took a moment before she realized he was holding a washcloth out to her. "To clean up," he said quickly. "I know you don't like to go to bed without…"

"Thank you," she told him softly, taking the warm, wet washcloth from his hands. Truth be told, she hadn't noticed the stickiness between her legs. Her mind was otherwise engaged. She quickly cleaned herself off before he took the towel from her once more. "There's a laundry basket in the bathroom. I'm sorry, I forgot to tell you that earlier."

Sara frowned. _He's sorry?_ "That's no problem--"

"Are you sure you weren't hurt?" he asked, his voice tight.

"What?"

"Are you sure…are you sure you weren't hurt?"

"I'm fine," she said, almost laughing. "Really. _I'm_ sorry about the bed."

"It was old." His eyes were on hers as she lay, naked from the waist down, on his parents' bed. Sara barely kept herself from squirming. "I'll be in the den."

He turned to leave before she could say a word.

"The stars in your eyes look red today"

--John Hiatt, _Cry Love_

She stared at the empty doorway for a long time. The den. He was in his father's den. That shiny bit of light, that optimism that had sparked inside her mere minutes earlier, was desperately trying to convince her that he was just popping into the den for a few minutes, that he'd be back in bed with her before she knew it.

But the optimism was soon overpowered, silenced, and she was left with the sinking feeling that the light at the end of the tunnel was really an oncoming train, and she had not been clear of its path.

Sara collapsed back onto the pillows, feeling more alone than she had when she left Las Vegas. At least then she knew someone loved her. Now…

Well, now, she couldn't really blame him for sleeping in the den. She had left him without a goodbye, without any idea as to when or if she'd be back. Worse, she did _exactly _what she knew he was afraid she'd do. Sara knew -- for _years_, she knew -- that though he cared for her, he was hesitant to enter a romantic relationship because he feared what would happen if she left him. All that time, she had scoffed at those feelings, believing them unfounded. She adored Grissom. She adored every inch of him, every quirk. And all he had to do was trust her enough to not break his heart.

And he did. One sweet Sunday they made love and, more than his heart, Grissom gave Sara his trust. She had cherished it. For two years, she had worked so hard to be worthy of him. She had given him his space and, slowly, he had opened up to her, growing accustomed to her presence as he began to welcome her into his world. Early on, his manner reminded her of an injured dog who only needed some time and tenderness until he felt comfortable enough to be vulnerable. During their first few weeks together, he had been skittish. When he wanted a drink of water, he'd ask her politely if he could get one out of her refrigerator. About fifteen minutes after they first made love, he asked permission to use her bathroom. Sara had laughed and kissed him and knew, without a doubt, that she loved him with all of her heart.

Even if he forgot to put the toilet seat back down.

Sara had slowly cultivated an environment of love, lulling them both into the belief that life would always be that way.

But the world had other ideas.

After the tornado that was Natalie Davis wrecked their lives, Sara did her best to make Grissom believe nothing had changed. Sure, she was a little banged up and bruised, but no permanent damage was done. She's smile wide at him when he'd look at her with sweet, concerned eyes, and she'd assure him that she was fine. They were fine.

Everything was fine, fine, fine.

Only it wasn't, and now Ana was dead. Her baby was dead.

And Grissom was sleeping in the den.

Sara knew she had to live with it. Or die slowly with it. It didn't really matter which. But she knew that she had to seem like she was getting better or Grissom would never stop babysitting her. He wouldn't feel right leaving a woman who was a complete mess. She had to fake normal until he could leave her without feeling like he was abandoning her, as she had done to him months earlier. Only then could he go back to Las Vegas, to his work and to Hank. He'd be able to go on with his life as if she never existed.

Even though that's what she wanted, the thought made Sara sad, and as she lay her head down to sleep, she did her best to remind herself that she was once loved as she had always wished, and though the perfection was fleeting, it had been hers.

Theirs.

TBC…


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: Thank you so much to Chick Lit for the lowdown on Marina del Rey!

**Part X**

"Yeah, how long must you wait for him?  
Yeah, how long must you pay for him?  
Yeah, how long must you wait for him?"

--Coldplay, _In My Place_

She woke to the sound of scraping and thumping. Sara sat up in bed, her neck slightly stiff, and blinked as she took in her surroundings. 

So it hadn't been a dream. 

The floral, dated room looked different in the sunlight; somehow it was more homey, more welcoming. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and got up out of bed. At the sudden rush of cool air on her lower half, Sara remembered her state of undress and rushed to the bureau for something to wear. After slipping on panties and sweatpants, she followed the sound that had woken her. 

Grissom was in his childhood bedroom and in the process of hauling one of the twin mattresses out from under the debris. There was a large black trash bag by his knees, full to bursting with the wooden planks that once held up the top bunk. 

"Do you need any help?" 

He looked up at her, surprised. "I'm sorry, did I wake you?" 

Brushing her messy hair behind her ears, Sara shook her head. "Do you need another garbage bag?" 

Grissom looked down at the one he had filled up. "Um…" 

"I'll go get it," she said. As she turned to go, Sara realized she had no idea where the garbage bags could be found. "Uh…where are they?" 

"In the laundry room. Off of the kitchen." 

"Okay." 

She managed to locate the laundry room with relative ease. The washer and dryer, like every other appliance in the house, looked ancient but very well-cared for. There were shelves to the right that housed detergent and fabric softener along with big, black contractor bags. Sara extracted two from the box and then returned to Grissom. 

"Here you go--" 

"Don't come in," he said quickly. "You don't have shoes." 

She looked down at her bare feet.

He took the bags from her hands. "Thank you." 

She nodded. "I'll go get shoes on so I can help." 

"No. No, don't worry. Why don't you just relax? Get some breakfast. I can make you pancakes," he said, moving towards her. 

"No. I can take care of it," she said, frowning. "I'll go." 

"Okay." 

Sara fixed herself a bowl of oatmeal and ate it, alone, at the kitchen table. She cleaned the dishes in the sink and then left them on the rack to dry.

The racket from the bedroom continued. Sara suspected he was moving furniture, but decided against intruding. She didn't want to offer her services again, just to be rejected one more time. And she didn't want to keep putting him in awkward situations where he'd have to politely push her away. It wasn't fair to Grissom. The poor guy's childhood bedroom was in ruins, thanks to her. The pristine room that had probably not seen a change in decades was now without a bed. She pictured his mother choosing every last piece of furniture for her only child's room, designing it with care so it could accommodate a growing boy. He probably had lots of great memories of that room, had probably thought lots of interesting thoughts as he stared up at the box spring above. The trashed bunk bed was now just a symbol of what Sara Sidle did to Gil Grissom's life:

She ruined it.

She only ever wanted to make things better for him. But it seemed as if he would've been better off if she had never agreed to stay in Las Vegas, if she had never bothered to pick up the phone when he called her in San Francisco…if she had never attended that seminar almost a decade earlier.

If they had never met, he wouldn't be cleaning up what was left of his room. He wouldn't be wasting his time in Marina del Rey when there were cases that needed solving in Las Vegas.

And maybe she'd be better off too. If they had never met, Sara wouldn't know what she was missing.

Sighing, she shuffled to the master bedroom and began to disrobe. It had been a long while since she had showered, and her odor was beginning to bother even her. She stepped under the scalding hot spray and let the water hit every inch of her body, let it beat against her skin until it was so numb, she couldn't feel the heat anymore. When she was sufficiently soaked, Sara reached for the shampoo and squeezed some into the palm of her hand. As she worked the soap into her scalp, she inhaled deeply, recognizing the scent of the shampoo she had always used in Vegas.

He had remembered.

Blinking away the tears, Sara rinsed her hair and then looked down at the conditioner and body wash that were sitting by the shampoo. Both were her favorite brands. Grissom must've slipped them into the cart the day before without her realizing. She wasn't sure why she was surprised. He was a considerate man, and it's not like he would've gone out of his way to _not _buy the correct shampoo and conditioner.

Still, she was touched. The fact that he knew such an insignificant yet intimate detail such was proof that he loved her once, and proof that, though his feelings had obviously changed, he still did care for her.

It didn't change much about her situation, but it would make the days ahead less painful.

Sara finished her shower, dried her hair, and dressed. She found Lady pacing the floor by the foot of the bed.

"Do you want to go out, girl?"

The dog paced faster. Sara sighed and pat her hip to let Lady know to follow as she walked out of the room and down the hallway towards Grissom. He had made much headway. The room was practically bare -- alarmingly so.

"Where's all the furniture?"

"Front yard. I'm getting rid of it."

"Oh." She watched as he swept up some dust, avoiding the two cardboard boxes that housed some belongings he probably wasn't planning on getting rid of. Sara spotted the Dodgers poster, neatly rolled up, and almost smiled. "I'm…going to take the dog for a walk. Her leash is by the doorway, right?"

Grissom stopped what he was doing and looked at her. "Um…maybe I should walk the dog. You don't know the area and…"

"I'll do it," she said, as firmly as she could without sounding mean. "She's my dog now and I'm responsible for her." When he frowned, she did her best to smile. "We won't go far."

With that, she left. A long walk was just what she needed, but Sara was well-aware that spending more than a half hour outside would have Grissom convinced she was on some suicide mission to the sea. She kept the walk brisk and short. Lady enjoyed it, and Sara was able to explore a bit, to take in a place that wasn't Las Vegas or Tomales Bay, to absorb surroundings that didn't trigger despair and sadness inside her soul.

When Sara and Lady returned, Grissom was waiting by the front door.

"Is something wrong?" she asked, confused.

He took the dog's leash from her and unhooked it, shooing Lady back into the house. "We need to go shopping. I've got to get paint and supplies."

"Paint and supplies?"

"For the room. It hasn't been painted in years. It needs a fresh coat. And I've got to get a new bed."

"Oh."

"Come on, let's get in the car."

Though she didn't see why she had to go along with him, she didn't feel up to objecting. They drove to the Home Depot in Playa Vista and Sara trailed behind Grissom as he grabbed a cart and started loading up on paint and paint gear. As he paid for his purchases, Sara pursed her lips and stared at the items he was buying. "So…you're going to do this all yourself?"

He regarded her for a moment. "Yes."

She said nothing more. Grissom never struck her as very handy. Oh, she knew he wasn't clueless, but she never really pictured him swinging a hammer or wielding a paintbrush. Magnifying glasses and a pointy pair of forceps seemed like a better fit.

Their next stop was a nearby furniture store. He spent all of five minutes picking out a dresser, bed, and nighstands in a plain mahogany. Sara almost opened her mouth to object when Grissom, a man who had reveled in his king-sized bed in Vegas, ordered a queen. She checked herself quickly, though, reminding herself that this sleeping arrangement was temporary, and that he wouldn't be sharing the bed anyway. Eventually, Grissom would be back to Vegas and his bed, and she'd be…somewhere. She couldn't trespass upon his goodwill for very long. Sara knew she'd have to formulate a plan so she'd have a place to go when it was time to leave Marina del Rey. She had some savings, but not enough to stay jobless in California for an extended period of time.

She'd have to come up with a plan soon.

"We're done here."

"There's a feelin  
But you're not feelin' it at all  
There's a meaning  
But you're not listening any more  
I look at that open road  
I'm gonna walk there by myself"

--Annie Lennox, _Dark Road_

Sara turned to look at Grissom and blinked. "What?"

"I said we're done here. Let's go."

She nodded and followed him to the parking lot. "We're not taking anything with us?"

"They're going to deliver everything in two days. That should give me enough time to get the walls patched up and painted," he explained as he got into the car.

"You're going to do all that yourself?"

"What do you mean?" he asked as he started the car.

"Do you need any help? "

"I know what I'm doing."

Sara folded her hands in her lap and exhaled. "You can have the big bedroom. Really, you should," she said quickly, before he could open his mouth. "It's your house. I can…sleep on the sofa. I spent most of my time sleeping on the couch in my cottage anyway."

Grissom kept his eyes on the road. "No."

The moment they returned home, he retreated to his old bedroom with the supplies. Sara sat with the dog in the kitchen for about an hour, staring at the patterned wallpaper, before getting up to go to the living room. She had watched hours of television while she was holed up in the cottage, and figured a few more wouldn't kill her. She searched for a remote for several minutes before realizing that the old TV probably didn't come with one. Sighing, Sara walked over to it and switched it on.

Snow.

She squeezed her eyes shut. The cable had obviously been disconnected, seeing as the house wasn't exactly lived in. She sighed and stood back, looking around the room for something to do. There were a few coffee table books on art lined up on a side table. She grabbed one on the Renaissance and began to flip through it.

Boring.

She picked up the one on DaVinci…

Boring.

…and then the one on Native American art…

Boring.

…and then the one on churches built during the Middle Ages…

More boring.

Art was definitely not her thing. She put the books back and then got up off the couch to wander around once more. Sara could hear movement coming from the other side of Grissom's bedroom door, but she didn't stand around to listen. He didn't want her help and she didn't feel like wallowing in that fact. She walked past the den and stopped at the doorway, staring at the books that lined the shelves. They called out to her, beckoning her for a closer look.

Sara skimmed the titles, coming to rest on "A Practical Course on Botany." Furrowing her brow, she ran her finger along the gray spine. It looked old -- older than all of the other books. Sara moved to pull the book off of the shelf before freezing. These weren't her books.

She took a step backwards and then frowned. There was nothing to do, and she wasn't remotely tired. Sleep was a long ways away. 

Sara swallowed and left the room, walking up to Grissom's bedroom door and knocking softly first, and then louder when she didn't receive an answer.

"Yes?"

"Can I come in?"

"Yes."

She opened the door and coughed, squinting her eyes at the inordinate amount of dust in the room. "I thought you were painting."

His thick beard was covered in dust and looked practically white. "I'm evening out the walls, spackling and sanding. I don't want to paint until they're in good shape."

"Oh."

Grissom looked at her for a long moment before shrugging his shoulders. "Did you need something?"

"Oh, right. I forgot. Um…would it be okay if I read one of the books you have in the den?"

He furrowed his brow. "Of course."

"I'll put it back when I'm done."

"Sara, just take them," he said, turning back to his wall.

She nodded and left, closing the door behind her.

TBC…


	11. Chapter 11

****

Part XI

"You live your life  
You go in shadows  
You'll come apart and you'll go black  
Some kind of night into your darkness  
Colors your eyes with what's not there."

--Mazzy Star, _Fade Into You_

Her eyes were so dry it hurt to blink, but Sara couldn't put the book down. She lay, curled up in the large bed with the dog, and soaked up the information on the pages in front of her. Though the science was as dated as the furnishings around her, Sara was lost it. There was a beauty in the pictures and diagrams, a sereneness she never encountered while studying crime scene photos or blood spatter patterns. For Sara, years in the world of forensics, the word "science" had always been said in the same breath as "crime." Science was rape kits and luminol and autopsies for over a decade. But in the world of botany, she knew science was different. It meant nature. It meant sun and sky and Earth.

It meant life, not death.

She was shocked when she got to the last page. Sara had read the book straight through, cover to cover. For the first time in hours, she glanced up from the pages. The sun was shimmering through the curtains. She could hear birds chirping. It was morning. Sara blinked and closed the book. For the first time in months she had spent a handful of hours not feeling bad about how bad her life was. She hadn't thought about her life at all. She got lost in something that didn't have anything to do with abject horror, that didn't have to do with Natalie Davis or the desert or Ana and her baby. She had even managed to forget that Grissom would probably be giving her a gentle heave-ho out of his parents' house soon enough.

Sara wanted to get lost in botany again. She hadn't slept, but she didn't want to risk the nightmares, so she got up out of bed and, borrowed book in hand, returned to the den so she could exchange one text for another. She carefully slid "A Practical Course on Botany" back into its resting place and then began to scan the shelves for another book.

There was a newer looking book with a barely cracked spine. Sara ran her finger across the title and pursed her lips. Grissom's dad must've bought it right before he died; it looked to be in pristine condition. She pulled it out and considered it.

"My mom bought that for him."

Sara gasped as she turned to see Grissom standing in the doorway. She placed a hand over her rapidly beating heart and tried to slow her breathing. She felt almost guilty for being in the room, although she had been granted permission.

"I'm sorry," Grissom said, seeing that he had scared her. He took a step closer. "My mother bought him that."

"Oh," she said, and then frowned as she moved to slide the book back into the shelf.

"No," he said quickly. "Take it. I didn't mean…" He pressed his lips together. "Take it. He never read it."

Not knowing what to say, she quietly uttered another soft, "Oh."

"She…she got it for him after he died. She was always doing that -- for his birthday and for Christmas. I think that one is from 1968," he said, walking towards her and taking the book from her hands. He lifted the cover and located the publication date. "Yeah, 1968."

Sara watched Grissom stare at the date. He was twelve in 1968. She pictured him on the cusp of the awkward teenage years and without a father to guide him. She wondered if he had spent much time in his father's den once the man died. His mother had kept the room a virtual shrine, a freeze-frame of the time when her husband was alive. Sara had often imagined what Grissom's life had been like while he was growing up, but this was the first time she did so with the knowledge that the ghost of his father was just a bedroom away.

Suddenly the décor of the house made sense. The old appliances, the ancient television, the sixties furniture…nothing had been updated. This was truly the house his father died in, down to the rotary phone in the kitchen. Grissom had been forced to pass his father's den whenever he went to the bathroom to brush his teeth. He had been forced to eat at the very same table where his father had his last meal, to sit on the couch where his father had laid down to take a nap and never woke up. If there was one small miracle in Sara's young life, it was that she didn't have to live where her father had died. There were few advantages to being a ward of the state, but that was one of them. The memories weren't as sharp when you didn't have to face familiar surroundings.

And now here was Grissom, with nothing but familiar surroundings.

She knew he must've been suffering standing there with her, explaining about the books his father hadn't been alive to read. And she knew that it must've been heartbreaking to have to dismantle his childhood bedroom. Grissom had obviously spent time and care keeping the house as his mother -- and father -- had left it. Now, thanks to her, the much avoided change had come, and the room that had been covered in first prize science fair ribbons and Dodgers posters was nothing but bare walls ready for a fresh coat.

"I can paint the room for you," she told him, hoping he'd say yes, hoping that this would make the process as painless as possible for him. "I painted my apartment a few years ago and I didn't do a bad job and--"

"I've got it under control," he assured her, handing her back the book. "Have you eaten breakfast?"

"Uh…no." Sara closed her mouth when she realizes she hadn't even brushed her teeth. Her mouth tasted dry and gross.

"I can make you something."

"No. No, thank you. I'm fine. You…you paint."

He nodded and left the room. Book tucked under her arm, Sara made her way to the kitchen. Not feeling up to actual cooking, she located a bagel and popped it into the toaster. It was a little after eight o'clock in the morning, and the lack of sleep was starting to catch up with her. She yawned as she buttered the bagel. Sara sat down and ate quickly. Her fingers itched to open the book, but she didn't want to get greasy fingerprints on the untouched pages. When she was done with most of her bagel, she cleaned off her plate and went back to the bedroom, eager to read more about botany.

But the bed was so soft, and she was so tired that Sara didn't get past the fifth page. She dozed soundly, dreaming of jungles and forests and the wonders they held. She dreamed of John Grissom, the man in the wedding picture, holding his little namesake as he pointed out the biggest tree in the rainforest to her. He kept beckoning her further, to follow him, deeper and deeper into the trees. Though she should've been scared, she wasn't. Not at all. She felt like she was going home.

"Sara, wake up."

She felt a hand on her ankle, shaking it lightly.

"Sara?"

She opened her eyes and blinked as they adjusted to the light. "Hmm?"

Grissom was staring at her. He was clean-shaven, and his hands were covered in tiny flecks of pale green paint. "We've got to go shopping."

TBC…


	12. Chapter 12

****

Part XII

"Can it be that it was all so simple then  
or has time rewritten every line?  
If we had the chance to do it all again  
tell me would we? Could we?  
Memories, may be beautiful and yet  
what's too painful to remember  
we simply choose to forget"

--Barbra Streisand, _The Way We Were_

She squinted up at Grissom. "What time is it?"

"Almost four o'clock."

Sara sat up, surprised. She had settled down with the book hours ago, but her lack of sleep the night before had caught up with her.

"Do you feel okay?"

"I'm…fine," she assured him, brushing her messy hair away from her face while she studied his. The bushy beard was gone. She knew he had gained weight since she last saw him, but it was much more obvious now that he wasn't covered up by all that hair. His cheeks looked wider, and his chin was starting to double. "You shaved?"

"I got paint in my beard."

"Paint? You finished the room?"

He nodded. "We need to go shopping. The bed is coming tomorrow, and I've got no sheets for it."

"Oh. Okay."

"Why don't you…get ready?" he said, taking in her obviously rumpled form. "I'm going to wash the rest of the paint from my hands."

Sara watched Grissom leave. They had been shopping together only a few times before, choosing instead to spend mutual days off at home. He could manage buying sheets very well on his own; he didn't need help. But she knew he was taking her along because he didn't trust her alone. Sara wasn't exactly sure what he thought she'd do if left to her own devices, and something inside her desperately wanted to tell him to stop babysitting her, but she knew time with Grissom was coming to a close, and she'd take what she could get. If it meant walking alongside him in the linens section of a department store while he picked out sheets for a bed she wasn't going to sleep in, so be it. Like a squirrel that stored its nuts for the winter, she was hoarding memories and experiences for the time when he'd leave her and go back to his life in Las Vegas.

Sara held out hope that the fact that he had splurged on new bed set and mattress meant that he planned on staying more than a few days, but her all too logical brain reminded her that Grissom loathed sleeping on couches. Over twenty years of working all hours in a hectic city made him prize his sleep. He appreciated a good mattress and soft bed linens, whereas she was the kind of person who only required a horizontal surface in order to catch a few winks.

As she pulled a clean shirt over her head, Sara remembered her first night in his bed, the sheer thrill of sleeping surrounded by the four walls of Grissom's bedroom, and by Grissom himself. Upon waking next to his sleeping form, she had squeezed her eyes shut and thought, _I made it_. She was in his world, in his bed. He had put his trust in her, had let her in. Never in a million years did Sara think she'd ever run from that. The old Sara would've thought that ludicrous. She had worked so hard to gain his trust, and the love that grew from their relationship was a stronger one than she'd ever experienced before.

He had asked her to marry him.

Sometimes that memory seemed more like a dream than reality. There were times in Tomales Bay when Sara was certain she had hallucinated the entire proposal. Marrying Grissom was above and beyond anything she had ever wished. Truth be told, she expected a relationship with the introverted scientist to be rather quiet and almost…well…businesslike. He was her boss, and she anticipated him setting up boundaries that she figured she'd just have to get comfortable with.

Only he didn't.

He let her in, welcomed her. He brought her lunch at work, slipped water bottles into her hands when he knew she'd be heading to a rather warm crime scene. He let her blast her favorite music and pick out the artwork in the bedroom and sat through all of _Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind _-- which he hated and she loved.

Grissom was a really good boyfriend. He cared, and more than that, he showed it. Being with him was like a treasure trove of new experiences. Sara had had sex before, but she had never really made love until Grissom. She had gone out on dates before, but she had never been on one where she almost forgot to chew her food because she kept getting lost in a man's eyes until it was Grissom sitting across from her. Making breakfast with him was an event; doing laundry was a new adventure. He made life -- plain, boring, everyday life -- something precious, something special. She hated that she was so messed up that that wasn't enough to make her better. She hated that someone like Nick, someone with happy parents and a happy childhood, could go through a similar experience and come out the other end of it intact. She hated that she wasn't strong like that. Sara had prized her strength for years; she had prized being tough enough to do everything on her own: grow up, go to college, be successful. She had done it all with no one to hold her hand.

And when she had someone to hold her hand, she collapsed. He had been right there, willing and able to shepherd her through her difficult times, and she just couldn't do it. It had all been too much, and she couldn't bare for him to see that. She wanted him to think she was strong. She didn't want him to see her the way she was in Tomales Bay, practically comatose, staring at The Weather Channel while she tried to recall the first time she saw her father hit her mother. Grissom once thought highly of her, highly enough to want her to be his wife. She didn't want to do too much damage to his memory of her. She wanted some pocket of his brain to think of her in a positive light.

Sara sighed at her reflection and then went to brush her teeth. Grissom was waiting in front of her bedroom door when she was done.

"You ready?"

She nodded.

They walked to the car in silence. It was a rather nice day, warm for February. Grissom drove them to the Westside Pavilion Mall and pulled up to the valet parking. "Let's go," he said softly before getting out of the car and handing the rental keys to the valet. Sara followed Grissom as he walked briskly to Macy's. They stopped at the store directory before getting on the escalator to the bed linens department. Once there, he located the most neutral beige bed set she had ever scene, and brought it to the register. When she offered to help him carry his purchases, he declined.

Once everything had been bought, they began to make their way back through the labyrinth that was the mall.

He frowned and then looked at her. "Do you remember the way out of here?"

Sara bit her lip. "I, uh…I was just following you."

"Oh."

They walked to the mall directory and scanned the map. Sara tried to search for their exit, desperately wanting to be of some help to him, while Grissom seemed lost in the names of stores.

"Do you want to buy anything?"

She blinked at him. "Excuse me?"

"Do you want to buy anything? There are…well, there are a lot of stores here and…" He looked at the directory again as his voice died off.

Sara clasped and unclasped her hands. Barnes & Noble was on the other side of the mall, and she really wanted to go see if they had any books on botany that weren't published before she was born, but she had forgotten her purse and she didn't want to be a bother to him. "No. It's okay."

He furrowed his brow and then seemed to catch notice of the fact that she hadn't brought her bag with her. "I'll give you money, Sara. If you need anything…please. We're here. Where do you need to go?"

She knew he probably meant clothes, for she came to Marina del Rey with a paltry wardrobe, but Sara wasn't looking for something to wear. The only pair of shoes she had with her, save for a cheap dollar store pair of flip-flops, were the ones she left Vegas with. And she was fine with that.

"Would it be okay if we, uh…"

"What?"

"…went to Barnes & Noble?"

Grissom's mouth formed an 'O' before he closed it and nodded. "Sure. Yes, sure. My father's collection of books is rather limited to one subject," he said apologetically.

"Oh," she said breathlessly, "that's not what I -- I mean…I want to find a newer book on botany. It's very interesting and well…it's okay. It's a long walk. You probably want to go home and get everything ready for tomorrow when they deliver your furniture."

He sighed. "Let's go to Barnes & Noble." He turned and began walking towards their new destination. She followed.

"Do you want me to hold one of the bags?"

"I'm fine."

TBC…

A/N: Memmmm'ries. Light the cornnnnnnnners of my mind. Misty water color memmmm'ries of the way they were. sniffles Although it's a sweet consolation to know that the GSR on the show is actually now happier than the GSR in my story. Yay for that!


	13. Chapter 13

****

Part XIII

But I've been unable  
To put you down  
I'm still learning things I ought to know by now

--Vertical Horizon, _You're a God_

As Sara stared at the assortment of botany-related books on the shelves in front of her, she could feel Grissom hovering some fifteen feet away, his large shopping bags hanging from either arm while he kept his eyes glued to her. Did he think she'd make a break for it? That she'd run screaming for the hills and slit her wrists? Though Sara was well aware his intentions were good, it didn't feel too comforting to know that the only reason he had his eyes on her was because he thought she had lost her marbles. There was a time when she'd catch him watching her intently with a hunger in his stare that wasn't present anymore. She used to get a chill up her spine when she'd see him looking at her, knowing his thoughts were probably bordering on carnal. That passion was gone, replaced with a sadness she couldn't quite put her finger on. Perhaps he was sad for what they had lost, or maybe he was sad that he ever taken a chance on her.

She sighed and refocused her attention on the books in front of her. Her fingers skimmed the spines until she settled on a thick, shiny text. Sara pulled it off the shelf and opened the cover, delighting in the musical crack that accompanied the motion. She had developed an intense love of new textbooks in college. Sara mostly had used books while in school, but on the rare occasion when she could afford to buy a book new, she coveted the purchase.

She savored the clean scent -- paper and glue -- and the smooth, unmarred pages of the beautiful book in her hands. Her fingers played over the different textures until they came to a stop on the price. Sara frowned. It was over two hundred dollars. Six months ago, she wouldn't have blinked at the price. Some women bought shoes. Some women hoarded designer bags. A book was a book, and so long as it interested Sara, it was worth the money. But now…

Grissom would offer to pay, and being the gentleman that he was, would probably not accept any repayment. And on the off chance that he did…the currently jobless Sara didn't exactly have two-hundred dollars to spend willy-nilly on something she could pick up at the library for free. She had money saved, but California wasn't exactly cheap, and if word got out that she had walked away from her old job under mysterious circumstances, getting a spot at a decent crime lab could prove very difficult.

Not that she was even sure she wanted to still be a criminalist anymore. It had been her passion for so long, and now it wasn't. It was as simple as that. Like a light switch, the need to go to work, to process scenes and collect evidence -- it was all gone, shut off. Maybe she had been burning out for a long time, and maybe her sweet time with Grissom masked her struggle from even herself, or maybe it really just was almost dying that did it. It left her stripped of everything but her love for Grissom, and unfortunately even that could not trump the fear embedded deep within her soul, could not erase the past which still haunted her.

Sara put back the book and sighed. She walked to Grissom who furrowed his brow in confusion.

"They didn't have what I wanted." She headed for the exit without looking back.

They returned home without another word. When they entered the front door, Lady trotted towards them, eager for some attention. "I'll take her out," Sara said.

"Okay. I'll get her food and water ready," Grissom supplied, putting his bags down.

"No. You go do what you need to do," she said, eyeing his bags of bedding. "I'll take care of her food and water."

She limited herself to an hour outside. Lady enjoyed the crisp air while Sara swallowed back tears. The last time she had set off into the unknown had been when she left to go to college, but youthful exuberance had trumped any fear she was having about moving on to the next stage of her life. She was two decades older now. Gone was the relentless ambition. In its wake was a broken heart and the knowledge that her own deficiencies had caused it. She wasn't suffering because some callous man had treated her badly. No, Sara had to live with the bitter fact that she hadn't been good enough; too much had happened in her life to let her be happy.

She had to accept it and, somehow, survive. Living the full life she had dreamed of was out of the question. Right now, Sara hoped she'd be able to find some decent work to support herself and the dog, who she'd no doubt be taking. She wasn't going to stick Grissom with a living remnant of their failed relationship. He didn't need the added trouble. Sara wanted him to go on and live his life to the best of his abilities. Though it hurt, she wanted him to forget her. She didn't want him to wallow as she was. He was too good. If he managed to get back on track, to be the man he was before she came to Las Vegas, somehow that would be enough.

It would have to be.

She sighed as the watched Lady sniff the edges of someone else's lawn. There had to be a library somewhere, hopefully within walking distance. Sara didn't want to depend on Grissom to drive her everywhere. She was eager to escape into some newer botany books, to see where up-to-date research had taken the field. It seemed like a frivolous pursuit, but there were twenty-four hours in every day, and those hours went by very, very slowly when there were no cases to work or crime scenes to canvass.

And she needed access to the internet.

A job wasn't going to come looking for her. And looking in the local paper was out of the question. She wasn't going to settle down in Grissom's hometown once she left his old house. She didn't want to reside in the greater Los Angeles area on the off chance she'd ever run into him again.

San Francisco was out of the question as well.

Too many memories.

There were other cities, and though the economy wasn't great, she had enough of an education and enough work experience to at least look good on paper. If a future employer were to ask for a reference…well…she'd have to hit up her old boss at the San Francisco Crime Lab, because there was no way she'd make Grissom have any part in this. He would be relieved of his duties to her.

When Sara returned home, she fed the dog and retreated to her room to read the textbook she had begun earlier in the day. Though it would have been nice to have a new book to compare it to, the old one sufficed. She rationalized that a strong understanding of the history of the subject would give her a good foundation for further investigation.

The next day she woke to the sound of Grissom's furniture being delivered. Sara stayed out of the way and in her room, absorbed in yet another botany book from John Grissom's collection. It was mid-afternoon before the her stomach rumbles urged her to venture into the kitchen for a bite to eat. The house was quiet, and Grissom's bedroom door was closed.

She raided the fridge for something easy to put together. There was enough lettuce for a salad and a few slices of whole wheat bread left. They'd have to go shopping soon. He probably wouldn't trust her enough to leave her there while he went to the grocery store, or, God forbid, let _her _take the rental car and go by herself. She ate standing up at the counter, annoyed at the world. After washing the dishes in the sink, Sara went back to the fridge for a bottle of water.

The light didn't go on.

She frowned. The bulb must've burned out. Sara reached her hand into the refrigerator for the water and stopped suddenly. The whirring motor of the ancient appliance was silent.

"Shit," she said to herself. The thing was broken.

Abandoning her beverage, Sara walked up to Grissom's closed bedroom door and knocked.

"Come in."

She opened the door to the 21st century. The bed linens she had thought looked plain and uninviting at the department store seemed luscious on Grissom's new bed. The only other furniture pieces were the nightstands and a tall dresser, on top of which sat the crate of memorabilia he had kept from his old room. The walls were bare.

"It looks…great."

"Thank you," he said quickly. "Are you okay? Do you need something?"

"No, I…well…I think I broke your fridge."

Grissom raised his brows. "What? Did the light go off?"

"And the motor."

Two hours later, Grissom was on his knees in the middle of the kitchen, hands covered in grease as he examined the inner workings of a forty-year-old refrigerator. "It's shot," he sighed, absentmindedly scratching his cheek with a dirty hand, leaving a dark smudge the size of a quarter.

Sara nervously shifted from one foot to the other. The thing had worked fine for decades. His father had used that fridge, had probably raided it for a midnight snack every now and then, or reached in for a pair of Cokes to share with his son. "But can't you call someone to fix it? I thought you said you had them serviced…"

Grissom winced at the pain in his knees as he got up off of the kitchen floor. He reached for a towel and began fruitlessly wiping the grease off his hands. "Nothing lasts forever, Sara."

TBC…


	14. Chapter 14

****

Part XIV

Nothing lasts forever.

It was a saying Grissom apparently took to heart, because less than an hour later she found herself standing next to him while he looked at refrigerators at Home Depot. She stared blankly ahead, emotionless until she caught the model of refrigerator that was in their home -- or _his _home, rather -- in Las Vegas. Sara could feel a tear gather in the corner of her eye as she thought back a couple of years. Moving into Grissom's home had been a thrill, but what touched her beyond measure was the fact that he had actively made room for her. The fridge was their vegetarian fridge, he had told her, and any meat that he wanted to keep was in the mini fridge in his office.

She did her best to casually wipe the tear away before it could fall.

"What do you think of this one?"

Sara looked up, startled to have been addressed. "What?"

"This fridge," Grissom said, motioning to the one in front of them. It was large and stainless steel, and looked as if a small family could fit in it comfortably.

"It's…big."

"The kitchen is big," he supplied as he leaned towards the tag to get a better look at the measurements.

"And it's expensive. Let me pay for it," Sara said quickly. "I broke the other refrigerator," she explained when he regarded her with a puzzled expression.

"Don't be ridiculous," he said. "It was old. It's amazing it lasted as long as it did." Grissom ended the conversation by walking to the nearest clerk and pointing at the appliance he wanted.

It was delivered the next day, the modern piece taking the place of the ancient one, the new replacing the old. Sara ran her hand over the handle of one of the doors before moving to the complicated-looking digital water dispenser. She heard footsteps and turned to see Grissom in the kitchen doorway.

"It's a…very nice refrigerator," she told him, remembering she hadn't given her opinion when he asked it the day before.

His eyes scanned the room. "It never hit me until now…"

"What?"

"This kitchen is horrible."

It was. She didn't tell him that, but it kind of was. "No. No, it's…" Sara turned to face him, but he was gone.

Plans for a new kitchen were under way within twenty-four hours. The recently purchased refrigerator was moved to the laundry room and everything else got gutted. Grissom had hired a contractor and crew to do the work, but he spent the long hours of the day helping rip up the linoleum, demolish the cabinets, and knock down one of the walls to open the space up to the rest of the house. There never seemed to not be noise coming from the kitchen, so Sara preferred to take the dog out for hours at a time and explore Marina del Rey rather than spend all day cooped up in his mother's bedroom staying out of the way. Grissom always seemed a little disturbed that she was beyond his watchful gaze for periods of time, but she knew he was certainly not going to let her help out in the kitchen, so this was the best option. He tried to ask her opinion several times -- what kind of cabinets she liked, what color granite she thought was prettiest -- but most of the time she just shrugged and said, "It's your house." One time she tried to change it up and said, "Well, what do you think your mother would have liked?" but he only got very quiet. After that, she started to offer her opinion here and there when she felt sure it was generic enough to not do any real damage to the aesthetic.

He always went with her suggestions.

On her excursions with the dog, Sara got to explore her makeshift home. Often aimless, they walked the sidewalks without purpose. The weather was mild and Lady seemed to enjoy it. Sara was just happy to be out of the house. Though she loved pouring over Grissom's father's collection of books, she felt awkward doing so while Grissom was working hard in the kitchen. It was much easier to read in stealth at night.

About a week into their walks, they stumbled across the library. Delighted, Sara moved to walk through the doors when she remembered she had the dog with her. The next day, she left Lady home so she could go pick up an application for a library card, but was disheartened to find out that, due to the fact that her California driver's license had expired and she had no proof of address, she couldn't take out books. Other than asking Grissom to put her name on the electric bill, she could see no way around it, and Sara was not about to ask Grissom to put her name on the electric bill.

She turned to leave before stopping in her tracks and looking back to the librarian. Just because she didn't have a card didn't mean she couldn't read all she liked while in the library. She just couldn't take anything home with her. "Where's the section on botany ?"

Excitement raced through Sara as she followed the librarian's directions to the botany texts. New books. Old books. She'd have updated information to compare with everything she read in Grissom's father's library. She immediately located the book she had wanted to buy at Barnes & Noble. It wasn't in the same mint condition, but it was the new edition and it seemed to call out to her. Sara eagerly pulled it off of the shelf and searched for a secluded spot to read.

Time seemed to stand still as she sat with the book, but soon the quiet bustle of the library ceased and fell silent, and an announcement from the loudspeaker let her know it would be closing in fifteen minutes. Alarmed, Sara scanned the walls of the library for a clock.

Seven forty-five.

She had been sitting there for almost nine hours. Sara snapped the book shut and bolted from her seat. Grissom had to be worried. He didn't like it when she walked around with the dog for an hour, forget nine hours alone without the protection of a German Shepherd. She sprinted home as best she could in her cheap pair of flip flops. The balls of her feet were aching, but she kept the pace.

Only ten blocks to go.

Eight more.

Five.

She was out of breath and feeling lightheaded, but she kept running. He'd be so mad. Worse than that, he'd be upset. She knew very well he felt responsible for her, and to know she caused him worry yet again stung.

It was dark now, and the streets looked vaguely different when the sun wasn't high in the California sky. She whizzed past houses that seemed so vacant and lifeless during the hours of the day but were now aglow with lit windows. She could see shadows through the glass, shadows so different from the ones she saw while she was hibernating in Tomales. These were shadows of families, couples, people with dogs that were enjoying their evening before they went to bed so they could do it all again the next day.

They didn't know how lucky they were.

She knew some probably thought their lives were monotonous and longed for adventure. She knew that some probably wished they woke up not knowing what the day would bring. Sara wanted to knock on their doors, plead with them to appreciate what they had, appreciate waking up next to someone they loved, appreciate having a job and stability.

She had all of that.

All of it.

She had the perfect man, the perfect dog. She had a job she was great at. She had friends who cared. And it all could've been hers forever. Forever and ever. But the floor seemed to crumble out from under her and she panicked. She wished she could go back. She wished she could tell herself to hold on tighter, even if it were for her own selfish reasons, even though she knew Grissom would probably be better off without her in the long run; she wished she could go back and hold on.

"Sara!"

She law the lights of the car illuminate her shadow before it registered that he had pulled up next to her in his rented car. Grissom called her name once more and she turned abruptly, her chest heaving with uneven breaths. He leapt out of the car and clutched her by the shoulders in one fluid movement. "Where were you?"

She shook her head, trying to collect herself as she willed her breathing to slow. "Library. I…lost track of the time. I…I'm sorry."

His eyes searched her face as his hands slid down to her upper arms. "I've been looking all over for you."

"I'm sorry," she repeated. "I really…I didn't realize it was so late."

Grissom let go looked away "Let's go home." He opened the passenger door for her and waited for her to buckle up before he closed it. Once he got situated in the driver's seat, he turned to look at her. "When was the last time you ate?"

She opened her mouth to answer, but found she couldn't remember the last meal she had.

"I thought so."

They got some Japanese take-out food and drove back home. Sara frowned when they pulled up to the house, all lonely with its unlit windows. It lacked the life of the others she had past on her sprint from the library.

"Are you okay?"

Startled, she looked at him and then shook her head. "I'm fine."

They got out of the car -- Grissom toting their take-out food -- and entered the dark house. Sara could feel the dog jump up on her eagerly before she could see her. "Hey, Lady," she said tiredly as she rubbed the dog's head.

"I'll get the lights," Grissom said softly, and within seconds Sara found herself blinking, adjusting to the brightness. Her eyes moved from the dog to the surrounding space, and her jaw dropped.

"Oh my goodness."

There was a gleaming, brand-spanking-new kitchen to her left. The wall that they had knocked down early on in the demolition phase now revealed gorgeous cherry cabinets and sleek sand-colored granite instead of the sheet rocked, patchy walls she had grown used to.

"Do you like it?" he asked. "We finished it a couple of hours ago. I didn't even realize you weren't home until we were done and I was going to show it to you, but then…I couldn't find you."

"It's great. Beautiful," she said as she watched him pull out the containers of food and set them on the bistro table at the far end of the room.

"Thank you." They took their seats and began to eat in silence.

Sara found herself more hungry than she realized. Now, without a book in front of her, she could concentrate on the rumblings in her stomach. In mere minutes she had polished off two vegetarian California rolls and was on to her second bowl of miso soup. As she looked up to make sure she had left enough for Grissom, she noticed he was fixated on what was beyond her shoulder. She turned, looking to see what had captured his attention, but was confused when there was nothing to be found. She faced him once more, brows furrowed.

"The living room doesn't match," he said evenly, without emotion.

"Hmm?"

"It's from another era. It doesn't match."

"It's all probably back in style now," she told him.

He got up and walked to the room, turning a slow circle as he evaluated his surroundings. "No. No, it's all got to go."

TBC…


	15. Chapter 15

****

Part XV

"I like to be gone most of the time  
and you like to be home most of the time  
if I stay in one place I lose my mind  
I'm a pretty impossible lady to be with"  
--Kimya Dawson, _Tire Swing_

Sara soon found herself at the Home Depot yet again, waiting by Grissom's side like an obedient child while he flipped through a design book, looking for the best finish for the hardwood floors. "But the contractor said they might be in pretty good condition," he said nonchalantly as he examined the different stains. "The floor has been protected by the carpet all these years. That would be great because refinishing them is a hassle. We'd have to go to a hotel for a few days and take the dog with us."

Her eyes bulged at the mention of a hotel.

"I think I like the Golden Pecan," he added lightly.

The ugly green carpeting proved to be a good barrier from forty years of wear and tear. As the week progressed, the walls were painted, the baseboards given a fresh coat of a crisp white enamel. Furniture was picked out without much fuss: Grissom wandered the showroom, with Sara in tow, and pointed to the living room set up he liked best. "What do you think?" he had asked, looking at her.

She shrugged and gave the answer she knew he wanted to hear: "It's great."

And so the living room soon joined the kitchen in the new millennium. Sara kept out of the way mostly, splitting her time between the dog and the library. She'd catch glimpses of Grissom as he helped to fix the room. Slowly but surely, he was losing the weight he had gained after she left. And then some. As she'd sip a bottle of water in the kitchen, she'd watch him out of the corner of her eye. His soft belly was all but gone, and his arms were more toned. When she found herself noticing him a little too much, she'd run off her sexual frustration, sprinting the long way to the library.

Sara logged a lot of miles by the time the living room was complete.

"What do you think of it?" he asked her when she returned, a little sweaty from a run, to the finished product.

"It's great."

It really was. Everything about the new space screamed home, from the plump couches to the serene paintings on the wall to the elegant bookshelves that now housed his mother's old art books. But it wasn't her home. She wanted it to be. She wanted to curl up on the loveseat next to Grissom, with Hank and Lady at their feet. She wanted to tell him about what she was reading, about how everything in his father's books ignited something in her. Lost in the image, it took her a moment to realize he was speaking.

"And so Patrick, you know, the contractor -- he said he'd give me a deal on the two bathrooms. They really need it."

Sara furrowed her brow and looked at him. "The bathrooms?"

"Yeah," he said, picking up a pamphlet on bathroom fixtures from the coffee table. "Demo starts tomorrow."

First one bathroom, and then the other, got gutted, re-tiled, and dressed to the nines. For five weeks they found themselves sharing a bathroom as one or the other was in a varied state of disarray. It shouldn't have been awkward, seeing as they spent the previous two years peeing in front of each other, but it was. He accidentally walked in on her brushing her teeth once and quickly apologized and excused himself as he rushed out. She entered the bathroom as he pulled off his T-shirt to shower and had a similar reaction as she bumbled back out the door, offering her apologies and averting her eyes.

And trying desperately not to think about what all that manual labor did to the muscles in his back.

She bit back a moan and went for another run.

His renovations were coming to a close, and Sara knew that her time was running out. She had to come up with a plan and come up with one quick. Grissom was too honorable a man to leave her alone without knowing she was capable of taking care of herself. She needed to figure out what she was going to do about work. Another stint as a criminalist seemed too daunting, too dreary. Instead, she poured over the classifieds at the library, focusing on jobs that were confined to labs. She sent her résumé to the labs in Sacramento and San Diego and Santa Barbara, smaller cities with smaller crimes and smaller problems.

She hoped that maybe she could live a quiet life in one of those places. She could go to work, do her job, and then come home to the dog. She'd need to find an apartment, of course, but that was the least of her worries. Sara wasn't picky. As much as she appreciated Grissom's hard work in making his old house a beautiful home, and as much as she admired what he had done, she didn't need those things. A fine house was only worth something if you had someone to share it with, if you took joy in coming home to love and life.

The day the work on the master bathroom was finished, she approached him, ready to bring up the subject of moving on.

"Look, it has heated towel bars," he said, flicking a switch and smiling like a kid with a new toy as he stood, admiring his work.

"Wow. That's great--"

"It's too bad you won't really be able to enjoy it."

Sara's stomach lurched into her throat. She hadn't expected him to introduce the topic of her leaving. "Uh..."

"You can have my room."

"Excuse me?"

"I'll sleep on one of the couches."

She shook her head slightly. "Excuse me?"

"Well, you can't sleep in here while the room is being fixed. The master bedroom will be another disaster area for a while, so using this bathroom won't really be feasible," he explained, scratching his chin. "We probably should've started working on it while we were finishing up the bathroom."

"You're doing this room, too?"

He nodded simply. "Yeah. Pick out a color you like."

With that, he left her alone.

TBC


	16. Chapter 16

**Part XVI**

"There are no words, I can use  
Because the meaning still leaves for you to choose"

--Cat Stevens, _Foreigner Suite_

To the beat of a pounding hammer, Sara planned her new life in secret. She managed to get in touch with her boss from the San Francisco Crime Lab -- a cranky old bastard who had retired to Oregon -- and finagled a recommendation that would hopefully skirt over her time in Las Vegas with ease and grace. Though the idea of going back to forensics had her stomach in knots, she knew she needed a job in order to build her nest egg up a bit more so she could go back to school for botany without worry. She intended on sending her résumé to cities with low rates of violent crime in the hopes she'd spend most of her working days on lab paperwork and not hovering over mutilated bodies.

Oh, how times had changed.

She purchased a P.O. Box at the local post office so all correspondence was clear from Grissom's watchful eye. Though he had been busy renovating, he still managed to keep track of her while she was under his roof, and so Sara was careful not to arouse any suspicion. She was sure if he found out what she was doing, he'd be the ever-kind, ever-generous ex-boyfriend and put in a good word for her, helping her land whatever job she wanted. But that couldn't happen. She couldn't go to a new place, a new lab, knowing that it was Grissom that got her there. That would be sheer torture. Sara needed to learn to live without him, and all of that started with getting a job without his help.

She spent most of her time at the library, researching different cities and studying up on botany. She wanted to choose a city with a good university, one with a botany program that went beyond Gardening 101, but she also knew that a job came first. Her savings was a nice size for a woman her age, but Sara wanted to store away enough cash so that when the time came to leave forensics, she could leave it once and for all and never look back. She wanted to be able to dive right into botany and not worry about anything else. It was her only refuge now. Should she try and fail without a solid financial foundation, she feared Grissom somehow finding out and coming to her rescue once more. She didn't want to be a burden. Or, to be more precise, she didn't want to be _his _burden. He had sacrificed enough for her and that had to stop.

All this she mulled over as she checked her P.O. Box for the recommendation letter from her former boss. It had been tough getting in touch with him: he didn't believe in e-mail and she didn't want his out-of-state phone number showing up on the bill for the cell phone Grissom insisted on getting her, so snail mail was her only option. Sara sighed as she shut tiny door of the small, metal box. Empty again.

As she trudged out of the post office, she caught a glimpse of herself in the glass window. Boy, she was looking rough. Her hair was longer than it had ever been, pulled up into a messy ponytail with a rubber band she had found in Grissom's father's office. Her once-black T-shirt was faded from so many washings and, limited as her wardrobe was, that black T-shirt was the best she had to offer. Sara began to wish she had some of her old belongings with her -- her favorite pair of slacks, her soft, comfy green sweater, nicer underwear. Her drawer full of clothes sitting in Grissom's mother's dresser wasn't going to cut it when she got a job.

Sara grimaced at her reflection. She knew she'd probably have to buy new clothes.

More money down the drain. But it was preferable to asking Grissom to pack up her things and mail them to her in her new life. No, she'd tell him to just donate her clothes to the poor. As for her car…

The Prius had been so expensive -- her first new car _ever _-- and she hated the idea of plunking down thousands of dollars to buy another automobile, but for the life of her she couldn't think of a way to get her car to California without either going to Vegas to get it or asking Grissom to drive it up to her. Knowing him, the Prius had been taken care of while she was gone, but she didn't want him to have to worry about it for her when he went back. She didn't want to be his responsibility anymore, and that included her hybrid vehicle.

Sara knew she'd have to work out something. Getting a new job on a very old recommendation might prove to be tricky, so she couldn't throw away a lot of money on a perfectly good car she already owned. She knew she'd have to figure out a way to get her Prius with as little involvement from Grissom as possible, and preferably without having to go back to Vegas. She feared the memories would keep her there, keep her from letting him go on with his life.

It would be tough, she decided as she made her way back to Grissom's childhood home, but something had to be done.

Sara felt her new resolve suddenly replaced by extreme confusion when she found herself standing at the bottom of the driveway, staring at her car.

She blinked a few times and then shook her head, thinking it must be some kind of hallucination, her worried mind playing tricks on her. But it wasn't. She took a step closer to it, sure that the very real car in front of her just happened to look like her Prius -- same color, same interior.

Same slash in the leather where Hank's overgrown toenail cut into the upholstery.

It was her car.

"I got it here in one piece."

Sara looked up and saw Brass standing beside her, eyeing the car.

"It's a nice ride. Not too bad. Handles pretty well. You know, for a hybrid."

"What are you…"

"Doing here?" Brass smiled, finishing her question for her. "Grissom figured you missed your old things so he asked me to bring some stuff up. How are you?"

"I'm fine," she answered, trying not to sound stiff and failing completely.

He eyed her but said nothing more about it as he walked towards the house. "I think there's someone who wants to see you."

She took a step towards the open front door but was stopped by two large paws pressing firmly against her midsection.

"Hank!"

The excitable boxer barked his hellos and did his best to ram his head into Sara for a cuddle. She kneeled down to give him a squeeze. "Oh, I missed you so much," she told him, kissing his furry head and not minding the large, wet swipe of his tongue against her cheek in return. "Good boy! Good boy," she said, kissing him again. Sara's eyes caught sight of a familiar pair of work boots at the threshold of the front door and she immediately, unconsciously dropped her arms from around Hank.

Grissom gave her a small smile. "He's happy to see you."

She tried her best to smile back. "I'm happy to see him, too."

Brass coughed. "I think I, uh…I've gotta go use the john." He disappeared into the house as Sara stood up and brushed imaginary dog hair from her clothes.

"I, uh…I had Jim bring up some of your stuff so you'd be more comfortable here. And your car. Obviously."

"Thank you. Thank was very nice of him. And you. Thank you." Sara swallowed. Grissom had just solved her problem for her: she had her clothes and her car, all with the help of a third party, but still, she couldn't fight the sinking feeling in her gut. He was removing her from his life back home so when he returned, her car wouldn't be parked in his garage and her clothes wouldn't be hanging in the closet next to his. He could go back to Las Vegas and pretend she never existed.

It was what she wanted for him.

Really.

"So, you went to the library again?"

"Uh…yep. Yeah."

"Are you sure you don't want a library card? Really, it's not a big deal. I know it's hard to read around here with all the construction going on, but soon we'll--"

"It's fine. I'm fine," she assured him. "I…like the library. I've always liked libraries."

"So have I." He looked back at the house. "Um…dinner. Takeout sound alright to you? I don't think there's enough in the kitchen for three people -- I haven't been shopping since we decided to put that skylight in the bedroom; it's taken up the bulk of my time."

"How about I go pick something up for us?" she volunteered quickly. "Ask Brass what he wants and I'll take my car and…"

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure."

Within minutes, Sara was strapped in her car for the first time in months. Numb, she drove to the little Thai restaurant Grissom knew she loved and picked up the order he had placed. After setting the large paper bag down on the passenger's seat, she gripped the wheel of her parked car and stared ahead as the tears built in her eyes. He was saying goodbye to her slowly, with clothes and Thai food and her old dog. They would sit around the kitchen table, and he and Brass would chat like nothing had changed. They'd hear updates on the team and complaints about Ecklie, and nothing would be different except her.

She didn't fit in her old world.

Sara sniffled and grabbed a paper napkin out of the bag of food. She blotted her eyes and checked the rearview mirror to make sure her face wasn't too red from the tears. Heaving a great sigh, she started the car. She had been in Marina del Rey for over three months and knew she had to leave before Grissom broached the subject. He was almost done with his renovation of his mother's bedroom and would most likely want to put the house on the market and get back to Vegas and his life as soon as possible. She needed to hurry up the job search so she'd be able to know which city she was going to relocate to.

A week.

She'd give herself a week.

Little did she know that in the next twenty-four hours, she and Grissom would part ways.

TBC…


	17. Chapter 17

**Part XVII**

There is a child sleeping near his twin  
The pictures go wild in a rush of wind  
That dark angel he is shuffling in  
Watching over them with his black feather wings unfurled

--Jeff Buckley, _Dream Brother_

Brass left them late into the evening. Grissom drove him to a nearby hotel; he insisted in putting Brass up for the night as a thank you for making the trip up. Sara cleared up the empty food containers in the silent kitchen. She didn't get very many moments to be alone in the house. Grissom was always around, either hovering by her, ready to serve, or in the next room swinging a hammer or drilling a screw. The house had an odd stillness to it when he wasn't around, like it was agitated and anxious waiting for him to come home.

Or maybe she was just projecting.

It really was beautiful, she thought to herself as she began to wander the rooms, truly exploring for the first time since she arrived. He had turned the Brady Bunch kitchen into something made for making gourmet meals. The living room was opulent, yet welcoming. She had to smile at the couch doubling as his makeshift bed while the master bedroom was being done, the pillow and quilt a haphazard addition to the beautiful room. He was adamant about her getting his old bedroom while the larger one was being renovated, and had set up camp on one of the nice new sofas. Sara ran her hand over Grissom's pillow, tracing her fingers around the indent his head had made hours earlier.

She wished so badly to climb onto the sofa and wait for him, to pretend that it was just her night off and he would be coming home from work soon to be with her, to hold her while they slept.

But it wasn't to be. In all his gallantry, Grissom failed to realize that offering his childhood bedroom to her did more harm than good: it was sheer torture for Sara to be cooped up in the room where they had made love months earlier. She would lay down on the bed -- his bed -- and stare at the ceiling, remembering the time when order became disorder and he succumbed to her. Though it hurt at bit to think of it, Sara was deeply thankful that night happened. It was one last time to be with him, one last time to feel him inside her, all the passion he kept bottled up pouring out during his release. The afterglow was shockingly short, but she was still able to recall that sweet feeling and wrap it around her like a warm blanket.

That was her plan for the night. Oh, she'd plot out her future in the morning and figure out what to do and where to go, but for that night only, she'd allow herself to steep in that old feeling, in the memory of his love. Dreamily, she wandered to the bedroom, peeled off her clothes, and slid into the fluffy bed. Grissom had washed the sheets before she began sleeping in the room, so they didn't have any trace of his scent, but she could imagine it was there, all around her. She could imagine his warm body sleeping by her side, she could recollect the sound of his breathing, the faint whistle when the air exited his nose. Those details, they were her parting gifts. She would take them with her and treasure them always.

Sara looked at the vacant half of the bed. She reached out a hand and let it run down the length of the empty sheet, sighing to herself as she did.

"Oh, Gil," she whispered, closing her eyes.

The dream was dark. It was dark all around her. She looked up at the canopy of tree branches and leaves that wove a thatch of greenery practically impenetrable to light. The trunks were twenty, thirty feet across and massive, making the spaces between two seem more like caves than paths. She felt a tug on her hand before she saw him: dark hair, dark eyes, a trim sweater over a neatly pressed oxford suit. He turned to look at her and he arched a brow and smiled. "Come with me, Sara."

Sara cocked her head to the side.

He had his son's voice. John Grissom grasped her hand firmly in his own and began to lead her through the trees.

"Where are we going?"

"Where do you need to go?"

"Somewhere. Anywhere. I can't stay in Los Angeles."

"Why not?"

"Because of your son."

He didn't slow his stride. "What's wrong with my son?"

"He's perfect. He needs someone perfect. That's not me."

John Grissom didn't answer. He just kept walking.

"Where are you taking me?"

"Here." He stopped so abruptly she ran into his side. John Grissom turned to face a massive tree trunk. He braced his hands -- so much like his son's -- on the bark.

"Where is here?"

"So…much…perfection…" he said, completely disregarding her question. He traced the patterns of the bark. "There is perfection all around us. There is even perfection in the imperfection. How deep to you think I am?"

She blinked, startled at the question. "Excuse me?"

"How deep?" he asked again, never taking his eyes off of the tree. "The rings. I was born in 1920. I died almost five decades later. My rings start, oh, maybe a foot in? Maybe less? And then end…almost where you start."

"And your point is…"

John Grissom finally took his eyes off of the tree. "Can't you hear it?"

"Here what?"

The sudden wail of a baby struck the silence like a lightening bolt.

John Grissom began to walk around, walk towards the sound. Sara followed him, bewildered. He stopped at a pile of leaves and then got on his knees, sweeping the layers away as the cries got louder. At the bottom of the pile was a baby.

"It's John," John Grissom said, looking up from his spot on the ground and smiling at Sara. He then scooped the small baby in his arms and stood up.

Sara shook her head, confused. "John? But…you're John."

"And so is he," the man said, smiling at the baby.

She felt her body grow weak and it was only when the words left her mouth that she realized who they had found: "Ana's son."

John Grissom smiled and nodded. "We were playing hide and seek and I lost him."

"Hide and seek?"

"He's very good at it. Thanks for your help."

"What--my help?"

"Thanks for helping me find him," John Grissom said. "I'll take good care of him. You can go now."

"Go? Go where? And--is he okay? The baby?" Sara tried to take a step closer but she was somehow rooted in her spot, unable to move, unable to see Ana's son.

"He's fine. You need to concentrate on your baby now."

"My…my what?" Her head was spinning.

"Your baby." He smiled and looked back at the trunk of the tree. "A new ring."

Sara's body seized as she sat up in bed. She was shaking and cold, with a thin layer of sweat that seemed to cover her from head to toe.

Baby.

It had been three and a half months since…

Sara slapped a hand over her mouth.

Baby.

She had left her birth control pills with the rest of her stuff in Las Vegas. When she and Grissom had made love on the broken bunk bed, she had been off of the pill for months. It never occurred to her…

She hadn't gotten her periods, but she hadn't noticed. Couldn't notice. All she felt was the pain of being around the man she loved without being able to touch him or hold him or tell him how she felt. It had been torture, and so everything else had gone unnoticed.

Three and a half months.

Sara put her head in her hands. She knew what she had to do. Very quietly, she crept out of bed and began to dress. Grissom was most likely asleep on the couch, so she'd have to leave through the back door and walk around the house to the driveway. Once she was there, she could get in her Prius and get out of there, get away from him.

Leaving was her only option.

He would be better of without her, and Sara was absolutely sure that if he even suspected she was pregnant, he would throw his life away to be with her and to raise a baby he never wanted. Out of obligation and duty, he would again ask her to be his wife -- even after all she had put him through -- and would rearrange his entire life for yet another one of her messes. He was too good a man not to do the honorable thing. And he'd never try to make her feel guilty about it, but she would feel so guilty anyway watching him suffer living a life he didn't want, and she knew it would be agony for them both.

He couldn't know.

Sara grabbed her car keys and left through the back door in the laundry room. She rounded the property, ending in the front right next to her Prius and his rented car. Sara moved to put the key in the lock.

"Did you leave me a note this time, too?"

She yelped as she jumped, could feel her heart pound in her throat as she turned to see him sitting on the stoop with the two dogs. Grissom's face was blank. "I couldn't sleep," he explained.

"Oh." She knew it was futile to lie and pretend she couldn't sleep either, that she was just heading out for a late night drive and would be back in a jiff.

He stood up, swallowed, and then nodded his head. "You don't know where you're going, do you?" He didn't wait for an answer. "Listen, I want you to take the house."

Sara's jaw dropped as she shook her head in confusion. "Wha--"

"I'm going back to Las Vegas," he continued. "The house is pretty much done. They're just going to deliver the furniture for the new room in a couple of days. Take it."

"Gris, I couldn't. I--"

"Sara, I'm not going to use it. And I couldn't sell it. I…I should get back to work and I'd feel better knowing you at least had someplace safe to stay. Don't run away again."

"But Grissom…that wouldn't be right. I couldn't--"

"The house will just sit here if you don't use it. So just…live here until you know what you're going to do, where you're going to go. Take the time to plan this time. I'll feel better if you do this. And I…I'll leave you alone, but I'll be in Vegas if you need anything." He seemed to take one last look around before he gave his chin a quick scratch and exhaled. "I guess I'll be on my way."

"What? Now?"

He put his hands in the pockets of his jeans and looked at his feet. "Might as well. Do you…do you want both of the dogs?"

She blinked. _The dogs?_ "Oh…no. No, you take Hank. I'll…I'll take Lady. She's my responsibility. You can…I know you love Hank."

Grissom regarded his dog for a moment before looking up at Sara. "I guess I'll just…go get my stuff."

He disappeared into the house while she stood in place, absolutely shocked to the point of numbness. Her brain was on overload, and her body felt frozen in position as she watched him hoist a duffle bag over his shoulder and head out of the door. He loaded his stuff into the trunk and whistled for Hank. The dog stayed in his spot next to Lady. "Come on, boy," Grissom whispered.

Hank got up and followed, heading into the backseat of the rental car and turning to face Sara and Lady before Grissom shut the door. He looked up at Sara. "He's going to miss her," Grissom said, nodding his head in Lady's direction.

"I…" Sara's mouth was dry. "I…I'm sure she'll miss him, too."

In the blink of an eye, her boys were gone.

TBC…


	18. Chapter 18

**Part XVIII**

"I pushed my soul in a deep dark hole and then I followed it in  
I watched myself crawlin' out as I was a-crawlin' in  
I got up so tight I couldn't unwind  
I saw so much I broke my mind  
I just dropped in to see what condition my condition was in"

--Kenny Rogers, _Just Dropped In (To See What Condition My Condition Was In)_

Sara walked back into the house. Only it wasn't a house anymore.

It was a tomb.

She dropped her car keys on the floor somewhere and fell onto the couch that had doubled as Grissom's bed. She buried her face in his pillow, pressing hard against the soft cotton. She wanted to become a part of it, to have the fibers envelop her until she was nothing more than an inanimate object her beloved once rested his head on.

The past hour was a blur in her mind, part-dream, part-reality. All nightmare. He was gone. And in his place…and in his place, there was another being. The logical part of her brain knew it had to be confirmed, that there was still a chance she was in the clear, but in her heart, she knew it was a lost cause. She just couldn't believe she had been so stupid as to overlook it, to overlook the missed periods, the lack of weight loss despite strenuous exercise, the ever-present moodiness that had her walking under a dark, stormy cloud in the face of the sweet spring weather.

She groaned into the pillow and Lady whimpered in response.

Pushing herself off of the sofa, she located her fallen keys and hightailed it for the Prius. She was a scientist. She needed scientific proof.

She needed to put herself out of her misery.

Nineteen minutes and two pregnancy tests later, she had the proof in her hands. In the beautiful new bathroom on the expensive new toilet, she sat and stared at the two sticks in her hand. Two sticks. Four lines.

One problem.

She couldn't let him find out. He'd turn around, come back from Vegas. He'd abandon his lab to do what? Rub her soon-to-be-swollen feet and install a new roof on a house that didn't need one? She couldn't allow it. Wouldn't. Sara had felt so helpless and vulnerable for over a year, that this sudden surge of power, of drive, felt almost foreign. She would protect Grissom. His happiness and well-being was all the motivation she needed.

At the kitchen table, she sat with a cooling mug of tea and plotted. She needed to leave California. Not only was the cost of living going to be too expensive for her to support herself, a kid, and the dog, but there seemed like too great a chance for Grissom to stumble upon her. He occasionally went to San Diego and Sacramento and various other cities in the state to do consults and seminars, and that was enough to scare her into leaving California for good.

California: the place she always ran back to.

California: the place she'd give up. _For him._

As much as she wanted to forge a path on her own, she knew her best option was to hit up her old boss for a job in Oregon. Some place near the coast would be city enough to suit her tastes -- not that her tastes were exactly a high priority at the moment -- and still small-town enough to not house much violent crime or reason for a certain world-renowned entomologist to visit.

The sun came up before Sara finished fine-tuning her plan. She didn't realize it was morning until she heard the front door open, causing her to look up and notice the sunlight pouring through the windows. Her heart jumped. She heard footsteps in the foyer.

"Hello?"

Sara swallowed. "Yes, Brass," she croaked.

"I was taking a walk," he explained as he came into the kitchen, "and I wanted to see if you guys were up for some breakfast. My treat."

Her mouth opened but she couldn't speak.

"Where's Grissom?"

"He…he left."

"Where'd he go? Home Depot, again? Does that guy ever put down his hammer?"

Sara shook her head ever so slightly. "N-no. No, Brass, he left. Last night. He…he decided it was time for him to go home."

Brass gaped at her. "You're kidding."

"No, I mean it," she said, trying her best to sound pleasant. "He…_we _thought it was best that we part ways. I'm getting a job now and he needs to go back to work so…anyway, yeah. He left."

"And that's it?"

"That's it," she lied.

"I don't believe it," he told her.

Her back stiffened. "Try."

"I don't get it."

"What's there to get? It's been a rough few months, but…but I'm feeling better. I can't depend on Grissom to baby-sit me. It's time he got back to his life and it's time I started mine." She tried desperately to look casual as she shrugged her shoulders and took a sip of her extremely cold tea.

"You're full of shit. You know that, right?"

"Jim, I don't expect you to understand--"

"Oh, I understand. You're a coward, Sara."

_I know_. "Some people can have near death experiences and go back to life as normal," she said, staring at him pointedly, "and others can't. I wish I could, Jim." When he frowned, she sighed and continued. "Gil was the best thing that ever happened to me. I just wish it were the other way around, too."

"Sara…"

"Don't. Being near him was just…" She put down the mug and stared at her hands. "I'm not the same woman I once was. I have to learn who I am now." It was corny, clichéd stuff, but she could feel him starting to soften. "I have to find my place in the world," she continued, giving him a small smile. "And it's not in Las Vegas."

At least that last part was true.

The reality was, she didn't give a damn about herself. Sara, whoever she was, had probably died somewhere along with her childhood decades earlier. Right now, her sole mission was to completely relieve the man she loved of any obligation, and that meant making sure his best friend didn't try to reinforce Grissom's imagined ties to her. Convincing Brass to help Grissom let her go was the first step.

"I want the best for him," she sighed. "I really do. But I know what I'm capable of. Relationships…it's almost easier when something so black and white as cheating ends them. No one more than me wishes things could've stayed the same, but they couldn't. And pretending things will suddenly fall into place again doesn't do any good for anybody."

Sara willed herself to be calm, hoping Brass believed her performance. She watched him look away, scratch his upper lip, and sigh. "You know, I…I thought you guys really had a chance. Even after Natalie," he added, his voice cracking slightly.

"Me, too."

"The world sucks sometimes."

"Yeah. It sucks."

"I really want what's best for you, Sara. For you both."

She gave him a half smile. "Then take good care of him."

"Only if you promise to take good care of yourself."

"I promise. I know I need to. But I need a clean break. And so does Grissom."

He nodded and Sara felt victory flare up in her heart. She was on track. A few more minutes of her act and she'd have him believing she could conquer the world if only left alone to do so. Ordinarily, Sara was a horrible liar, but her desperation had a strange effect: it left her unbelievably calm. She faked repose, fooling the normally astute detective and making him an unknowing accomplice in her plan. He would go home to Vegas and tell Grissom to leave well enough alone, to move on. He would tell him not to worry about his crazy ex-girlfriend, that she was alright.

Sara walked Brass to the door and hugged him goodbye. "I won't be staying here much longer, so please tell Grissom I will FedEx him the keys to the house as soon as I leave. It'll be all his again."

Her friend nodded and left.

Overwhelmingly tired, she mindlessly wandered into the master bedroom and, finding it empty of furniture, broke down on the gleaming hardwood floors and cried herself to sleep.

TBC…

A/N: Happy Inauguration! I cried. Like a dumb baby. In front of a lot of people.


	19. Chapter 19

**Part XIX**

"Yesterday, all my troubles seemed so far away  
Now it looks as though they're here to stay  
Oh, I believe in yesterday"

--The Beatles, _Yesterday_

Armed with a pre-paid cell phone -- the kind criminals used -- she made her plans. Instead of waiting by the P.O. Box for her old boss to get in touch with her, she managed to get a hold of him as he fished in the Oregon wilderness. It didn't take much to convince him to scout out a job for her in Portland.

"It doesn't have to be in the field. Actually, Dave," she told him, "I'd prefer it if it weren't."

"I know they're looking for experienced people. They've got a young crop of rookies up from Eugene. The university vomits 'em up every spring." She could hear him take a drag off a cigarette. "And the minute they get good, they're off to Seattle."

Sara felt a twinge of guilt. She had left the San Francisco Crime Lab for Las Vegas, but not because of a better job opportunity. "Well, I'm your girl."

"Didn't find what you were looking for in Sin City, huh?"

"Uh…"

"Never mind. I'll make the calls."

True to his word, Sara was contacted by the Portland Police Department in two days time and her resume was requested. "It's just a formality," the lab director said, much to Sara's relief. "We need it on file. Dave gave us a glowing recommendation."

When she hung up, she had a new job and a new boss. A new life.

She let her cell phone slip out of her fingers and onto the couch. She had been sleeping there, where Grissom had slept. The new bedroom set had come and the room was beautiful, but she couldn't bear to go in it. A part of her hoped she had imagined their last week together; a part of her hoped she'd walk by the master bedroom and see him plastering a wall or painting the molding.

Though it hurt to live in his parents' house, Sara knew it would hurt more to leave. She had grown comfortable there. Every nook and cranny held a reminder of Grissom, from the refrigerator to the towel racks, and because her time there was short, it was all more sweet than bitter. She cleaned up every trace of her time there. Like a fiend she was, wiping every surface of her fingerprints, making the place smell lemon fresh and disinfected. And as she did this, she recalled the small moments she had observed during their stay together: while vacuuming the area rug in the living room, she remembered watching Grissom as he unrolled it and stepped back to take it in. As she scrubbed the toilet, she sighed and thought of him tightening the nuts and bolts that held it to the ground. He was everywhere.

In a week, the house was gleaming and her plans were ready to be put into motion.

Dave told her she could stay at his house while she looked for a place of her own. "It's in Gresham -- about twenty miles east of Portland," he had told her over the phone. "Just get the key from my neighbor. Make yourself comfortable." Sara was grateful, but had no intentions of heeding his advice. She had set up an appointment with a Portland realtor and was scheduled to meet with her the day after her arrival.

"Are you looking to buy or rent?"

_In this economy? _"Rent." She didn't want to get tied down.

"How many bedrooms?"

Sara looked down at her stomach and frowned. "Two. And they have to allow dogs. I have a dog."

"Well, we'll see what we can do, Miss Sidle."

Sara hung up the phone and regarded Lady, who had been sitting stoically by her side in a show of support throughout the entire process. She wrapped an arm around the dog's neck and squeezed. "It's time to say goodbye to this place."

"She's got a ticket to ride  
But she don't care"

--The Beatles, _Ticket to Ride_

She wrote a reassuring, thankful letter and express mailed it, along with her key to the house, to Grissom. It was a general letter, but very hopeful in tone. Sara desperately wanted him to believe she was doing well. She didn't want him checking up on her and knew any sign of distress would have him on high alert. With her belongings in the trunk of her Prius and the dog sitting comfortably in the backseat, Sara Sidle left California.

It was the place of her birth and, in so many ways, the place where much of her had died. It owned her soul in a way she couldn't quite quantify, but its draw was trumped by her will to protect Grissom from the mess she made of his life.

The ride to Oregon was long and silent. She stopped at a dog-friendly motel for a few hours sleep, but beyond the handful of rest stops for Lady, Sara kept on the road. She got to her destination at three o'clock in the afternoon, a couple of hours ahead of schedule. After letting herself into Dave's house, she called the realtor and asked if there was any way she could meet with her then.

"I'm very eager to get things moving. If you have the time…"

She heard the realtor shuffle around some papers and sigh. "Is five-thirty alright?"

"Perfect."

Ever efficient, Sara quickly located a Wal-Mart and purchased a few necessities, like dog food and bottled water. While she was there, she picked up some sheets and a cheap set of dishes for her new place, wherever would be.

Starting from scratch again, she thought to herself bitterly.

Sara hated that feeling. She hated having to buy all new stuff: new shower curtains and new pans, new hangers and wastepaper baskets. She would always end up forgetting something and then have to live without something so simultaneously forgettable and essential, like a can opener. It had started with her move from foster care to college, and it didn't ever improve until she had packed her things and moved in with Grissom. Had had everything. All she really needed to contribute was some tampons and her toothbrush.

Sara scoffed loudly, cynically. She wouldn't be needing tampons for a while.

At five-twenty, she arrived at the realtor's office and proceeded to wait for thirty minutes in a very uncomfortable chair while the realtor hammered out a contract with her other clients. Sara sighed and glanced at some of the waiting room reading material, choosing the battered copy of CosmoGirl over a rather new looking issue of Parents magazine. She was a few minutes into an article about teen fashion trends for the Spring when the realtor's office door opened and a satisfied couple exited. Pleasantries were soon exchanged and before she knew it, Sara was standing in what would be her new home.

"It's got the two bedrooms you wanted."

"Yeah, great. What's the parking situation?"

"You get your own space."

"And the dog?"

"Not a problem."

"Sold."

"She asked me to stay and she told me to sit anywhere,  
So I looked around and I noticed there wasn't a chair."

--The Beatles, _Norwegian Wood (This Bird Has Flown)_

Her leased was signed and the place was hers. Sara's first stop was a discount furniture store her realtor had recommended. She bought a full-sized mattress and dresser for her bedroom, and a couch for her living room. She steered clear of any baby furniture, though she knew full well the time would come when she'd have to buy a crib.

It was inevitable.

After she gave the clerk her new address, she drove to the Portland Police Department to meet her new boss. Gerald Moss, middle-aged and rather short, seemed nice enough. He introduced her to a few of the CSIs and directed her to HR so she could sign all of the proper forms that needed signing.

Sara left the emergency contact form blank.

By the end of the week, she knew she'd have to see a doctor in order to get clearance to work at the lab. It would be her first doctor's visit since her cast had been removed.

Unfortunately, there would be no Grissom to hold her hand this time.

TBC…


End file.
